


Simple

by Rapier_Thirteen



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars: Before the Awakening - Greg Rucka
Genre: BB-8 Ships It, Canon-Typical Violence, Doctors & Physicians, Drama, Drama & Romance, Epic Battles, Epic Friendship, Espionage, F/M, Falling In Love, Fighter Pilots, First Order Origin Story, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Long-Term Relationship(s), Major Original Character(s), Medical Jargon, Medical Professionals, Medical Trauma, Military, Mystery, Origin Story, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Pathfinders, Pilots, Plot Twists, Poe Needs A Hug, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Rapier Squadron, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Resistance Era, Tissue Warning, War, Women in the Military, Wordcount: Over 100.000, Wordcount: Over 50.000, X-Wing(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 40
Words: 142,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8635375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapier_Thirteen/pseuds/Rapier_Thirteen
Summary: After a mysterious enemy sacks a New Republic base, a field medic finds herself torn between her loyalty to the New Republic and her frustration with it. More lines blur as the First Order rises from the ashes, and no choice is cut and dry. But she is not the only one who is confused, and that joint confusion leads her to the simplest decision she ever made: loving him. Poe/OC. Also on FF!





	1. The Bravest Patient

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody! This story is doing really well on FF so I decided I'd post it here, too. Enjoy!

_Chapter 1: The Bravest Patient_

If a combat med unit was called in to pull a strike team out of their own rescue operation, one could assume that that operation had just sunk to Corellian hell in a hand basket.

Transports plunged through Dantooine's atmosphere like rocks in a murky lake, explosions and turbulence from atmospheric change throwing around their passengers. The eerie red light that illuminated the inside flickered in and out with every jolt.

Somewhere towards the middle of the transport, a young lieutenant watched her command with growing uneasiness. Her hand squeezed the handle mounted onto the ceiling above her. Beings muttered prayers to whatever they believed was holding them together to hold them together for a little bit longer. Equipment was checked and rechecked to make absolutely certain that everything was performing at top efficiency.

Time, she knew, was never on a medic's side. No matter how good they were. Any kind of malfunction, no matter how small, could get them – and more importantly, their patients – killed.

The floor groaned as landing gear was dropped. Mila took a deep breath. The ship pitched and shook as it made its descent.

Everyone flinched.

Mila held a hand up. "Steady!"

An alarm blinked a countdown. Those that had weapons shouldered them. The gangplank suddenly collapsed and locked into the dirt, and everyone sprinted forwards into the darkness. Triage droids fanned out in front of them in search of the critically wounded. Bright red laser bolts did their deadly dance across the plain, running into anything and everything within range. In the distance, flames licked at the sky as they tore through the shell of a nearby base, their smoke stinging Mila's lungs.

Force only knew what had happened.

Republic Command had said pirates. Mila had other ideas.

Wisps of her brown hair escaping from her ponytail, Mila ran as fast as she could, a pack of medical supplies strapped to her back and a blaster rifle cinched tightly between her palms and her fingers. Many lay strewn on the ground, their blood staining the dry grassland.

None, unfortunately, were alive.

A scream ricocheted down a hill, and Mila took off, pelting in the direction of the wailing. A young soldier lay crooked on the grass, blaster wounds puncturing his body in several places. His leg was broken. Terror flailed in his eyes as he squirmed in agony.

"Hey!" Mila shouted a greeting over the chaos of the battle, dropping to her knees and yanking the medkit from her back. "Hey, buddy," she said, leaning over the man and running her fingers through his hair in an effort to calm him. "You're okay. Doc's here. I'm gonna fix you up. Get you back to Hosnian. How's that sound?"

The soldier's face lit up a little. A trembling hand reached up and tapped the medic's patch on her uniform with a single, bloodied digit.

"That's right, buddy," Mila soothed, grinning a little. "The doc's in."

Relief flushed through his features, relaxing the stressed lines in his face, and he made an effort to smile.

Mila pulled out a small syringe from her bag. "Get you doped up here, my friend, and we'll see about getting you onto one of those transports."

Boots pounded into the ground behind her, and two of her noncoms* ran to her side.

"We clear to take him, Lieutenant Criss?" one asked. "What's the damage?"

"Broken clavicle, blaster wounds through his upper arm. Several through his left side, though I don't think they hit anything precious." She took a second look as she stuck the needle with the sedative in it into his thigh. "Right tibia's shattered, so be careful when you pick him up. Though he's probably on enough sedative to knock out a bantha. Just be careful, sergeant. Whoever's responsible for this—" she gestured towards the ongoing fight "—kriffed him up pretty badly."

The sergeant nodded. "Roger that." He motioned towards his comrade. "Give me a hand here, Wex. This one's delicate."

Carefully, the two men lowered the soldier onto a hovercot and ran him back towards the transport.

The first sergeant waved to the sky. "Looks like we got some air support coming in, Lieutenant!" He paused, looking into the sky as nine X-wings dipped below the clouds, quad engines screaming.

Wex's jaw dropped. "Holy kriff, that's Rapier Squadron!" He laughed triumphantly over the noise, clapping his friend on the back. "Whoever started this mess is about to get their ass handed to them!"

Both medics turned to the soldier on the hovercot, pointing upwards and hurriedly rambling on about their apparent salvation as several Rapiers sped towards the carnage and unleashed a loud hail of cannon fire on the enemy. Everyone on the field started cheering.

"About damn time, Dameron!" the wounded soldier cried jokingly, relief seeping through his voice. Though she could no longer see him past the threshold of the transport, Mila knew he was beaming.

The first sergeant and Wex ran back down the gangplank and across the field to their commanding officer, who quickly conversed with a triage droid.

"They've got him in there, Lieutenant," Wex reported. "You want to move on?"

Mila nodded, looking up. "Let's get to the top of that hill again," she said, pointing in that direction. "Droid said there are more on the other side."

The three soldiers took off running and crested the top of the hill. Chaos had strewn itself across the plain. Blasterfire bounced in every direction, smoke and dust rose from the field, and the Rapiers soared overhead, picking off anything and everything that tried to retreat with lethal precision. The three medics sprinted into the fray, Mila kneeling down by another patient and quickly gathering a prognosis.

The man's dark eyes fluttered open for a brief second, and he took a short, sharp breath. Mila started to comb her fingers through his hair, but just as her small hand reached his black curls, the soldier was gone. She sighed sadly.

"Can't save them all, sergeants," she griped. "No matter how bad you want to."

Someone opened fire, but the rounds sounded too heavy for a blaster. Mila winced.

"Looks like mystery kid's pulling out some ground fire," Wex sighed.

One blast hit the ventral side of one of the X-wings, and it completely vaporized. A second Rapier was hit, this time directly in the engines, and it exploded. A third fighter, which Mila swore was painted black, pounded into the cannon with enough ferocity to give a krayt dragon a nightmare.

But the second gun, which was much closer than the now vaped one, clipped another Rapier in the wing. Smoke streamed from the fighter's top left S-foil, and Mila waited for the pilot to eject.

He didn't.

The fighter rocketed towards the ground, diving into the grass nose-first. The ground shuddered with the impact. A large plume of smoke went up from the X-wing's nose, and flames licked at the back. An astromech droid's last haunting screech tore through the air. Frozen with mute shock, Mila and the others looked on.

"Think he's still alive, Darren?" Wex asked.

The first sergeant shook his head. "Probably not. And if he is, he doesn't have much time left."

The crippled X-wing groaned, part of the nose being eaten away by flames. Suddenly it exploded, sending shrapnel and glass in every direction. Mila swore she heard the pilot inside, desperately trying to find a way out. Black smoke filled the cockpit, rising out of a hole cracked in the top.

"Yeah," Darren said sadly. "Don't think there's much we can do. He's a goner."

"Wait," Mila ordered sternly, her hazel eyes not leaving the wreckage for a second. Two of the Rapiers circled overhead, standing guard over their fallen comrade.

A deep pink light filled the inside of the cockpit, and soon a flare shot out of the hole in the top. Mila gasped.

"He's still alive," she breathed, adrenaline shaking her voice. "Both of you, stay on my tail and cover me!"

The two sergeants' protests faded in her ears as Mila ran forwards, grabbing onto one of the X-wing's S-foils and hoisting herself on top of the wreckage. A loud cry went up from inside the cockpit.

"Hang on, buddy!" Mila called, fumbling around for something heavy enough to smash the canopy in with. "Should have thought this one through, Lieutenant," she muttered to herself, when her hands hit a large piece of shrapnel, roughly the size of a blaster rifle, lying on the X-wing's damaged dorsal hull. Snatching it up with the disparity of a starving person grappling for bread, Mila stumbled towards the cockpit.

"Can you hear me?" she shouted over the roar of the flames, which were growing steadily closer.

"This thing's about to blow!" the pilot screamed back, smoke scratching at his voice. "You need to get away before—"

One of the engines gave out, rocking the X-wing violently. Mila fought to retain her footing.

"Go!" he yelped, panicking. "Now!"

With as much force as she could muster, Mila rammed the shrapnel into the canopy. The transparisteel began to give way, spraying in every direction.

"What the hell are you doing?!" the pilot cried. The X-wing pitched again. "Get out of here! Now!"

His voice was weakening.

 _Not a chance_ , Mila thought, hammering the shrapnel through the canopy until she had a hole big enough to work with. Smoke rushed from the new, larger opening. She coughed.

The smoke cleared enough that Mila could finally see the pilot's orange flight suit peaking through. Reaching down into the cockpit, she fumbled for the restraints that held the pilot in, cutting through them with a utility knife from her belt. She grabbed the now unconscious pilot under his arms.

Every muscle in Mila's body screamed as she braced her feet against the X-wing's hull and began to wrench the pilot from the cockpit. The leg of his flight suit caught on a piece of bent metal. Flames licked at his feet, and his sweating brow furrowed.

Mila pulled harder.

He didn't move.

Crying out as her muscles strained, Mila finally ripped the sturdy fabric and dragged the pilot out of the cockpit, the two of them tumbling to the ground as another one of the X-wing's engines gave out.

She ducked under the smoke and grabbed the pilot under his armpits, dragging his wounded body across the grass.

"Lieutenant!" Wex shouted, running towards her. "Are you—"

"Help me!" Mila barked.

Wex carefully grabbed the pilot's singed ankles and lifted him off the ground.

"Darren!" he shouted. "Cover us!"

Darren raised his rifle to his shoulder, took off the safety, and wrapped one long finger around the trigger, silently daring anyone to come close. A transport sank to the ground behind them, the ground shaking as the gangplank rammed into it. Carefully, the two medics carried the pilot's battered body into the transport, setting him in Mila's arms as the gangplank began to rise.

The black Rapier soared overhead, and judging from the noise coming from the transport's cockpit, the pilot was conversing with the fighter. The transport groaned as it lifted off, and Mila heard several X-wings flanking them outside.

Gently setting the pilot down on the floor, Mila began to assess his wounds. She carefully removed his helmet, which was cracked in several places. His head was bleeding, his dark hair soaked with blood. As gingerly as she could, she took off his life support vest and felt the pilot's sides for any abnormalities.

One of his ribs popped under her fingers.

Suddenly the pilot's dark eyes snapped open, and he looked down at the rest of his body. A long piece of shrapnel jutted out from his stomach. He started to panic.

Mila's small hand combed through his dark hair. "You're okay, buddy," she soothed. "You're on a transport. We're taking you back to the cruiser."

His fair-skinned face twisted in pain. "Where… where's—"

"Shh," Mila whispered. She motioned to the outside of the transport with her free hand while the other gently massaged his temple. "You're safe now." She smiled. "Your squad's just outside. Our pilot's been talking with your CO. Take a deep breath. Can you hear their engines?"

The pilot closed his eyes, making an effort to relax. Slowly, he started to smile, tears filling his eyes. "They made it…."

Mila nodded.

"Am… am I gonna make it?"

Eyeing the shrapnel and the many thick, red stains splotched across his flight suit, Mila swallowed. She didn't know.

"You'll be fine, buddy," she said softly. Even she was alarmed at the lack of confidence in her voice. "You'll be fine."

"Lieutenant, we're touching down," the transport pilot called over his shoulder.

Mila looked at her patient. "We're almost there," she whispered. "We'll get you into an OR as soon as we can. We'll fix you up."

Fear ate at the fighter pilot's features. "Are… are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"You don't _sound_ too sure."

Mila steeled herself. "You are going to be fine, my friend."

The gangplank lowered, crashing into the durasteel floor and echoing around the hangar bay. Techs rushed to newly landed X-wings, getting astromechs on the ground and checking the fighters for any signs of damage.

One pilot climbed out of the cockpit of his fighter, hurriedly handing the tech his helmet and nodding a silent thank you before jogging towards the transport. His dark, wavy hair was matted with sweat. Worry loomed behind his deep brown eyes.

Mila recognized his face from somewhere.

"Kit!" he called, almost sliding to his knees next to his wounded friend. "Rapier Five, can you hear me? It's Poe."

Kit's face lit up. "C-Commander!" he breathed, reaching out and grabbing his friend's hand. "You… you're okay!"

"And you will be too, bud." Poe looked at Mila. "You're in good hands."

Mila smiled at him.

"Come on," Poe encouraged. "Let's get you inside." He turned to Mila, quickly glancing at the patch on her chest that listed her rank. "You need help, Lieutenant?" he asked.

Mila nodded. "Grab his ankles. Be careful. They're burned in several places."

Wrapping his long fingers around his friend's ankles, the commander visibly cringed. "I got you, buddy. Let's go."

"Lift on three," Mila ordered. "One… two… three."

Kit screamed.

"Hang on, Rapier Five!" Poe called to him. "You're gonna be okay!"

Two blast doors opened, and the three slowly made their way into a long, white hallway.

A loud explosion tore through the air before the doors could shut again. Mila jumped.

"I don't wanna know," she huffed.

They inched down the hallway, Kit's blood leaving a spotty trail on the floor behind them. His eyes began to droop.

"We're almost there, buddy," Mila cajoled. "Hang in there."

They rounded the corner, and Mila's heart dropped to her stomach. "Oh, that's not good."

Poe's eyes widened. "What?"

Poe looked over his shoulder at the carnage and squeezed his dark eyes shut. So many had been hit during the attack that a long line had formed outside the operating room. Some surgeons had grabbed sedatives and were already operating right where they were.

He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to Mila. The look on his face broke her heart.

"Can you do anything for him?" he asked, helping her set his friend down on the floor.

Mila sighed. "I've got better light, so I can at least get a better idea of what all he's got going on here." She grabbed her knife and tore open the middle of her patient's flight suit. "What did you say his name is?"

"Kit Anderon," the patient gasped. "What's yours?"

Mila didn't look up from her work, but she smiled. "I'm Mila. Mila Criss."

Kit chuckled a little. "I'd shake your hand, but…."

Mila laughed. Poe grinned and rolled his eyes, gripping his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "She understands, bud," he chuckled.

"She's been living under a rock if she doesn't know who you are," Kit went on, tilting his head backwards and grinning admiringly up at his commanding officer.

The commander scoffed, smiling. He looked at Mila. "I'm Poe. Poe Dameron. And he's exaggerating."

Mila smiled at him. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere."

"You based on Hosnian Prime?"

Mila nodded. "I've probably seen you around." She observed Kit's wounds and clenched her teeth. It looked like the shard had punctured his stomach. It was a miracle that he was still alive.

Poe grimaced. "How bad is it?"

Mila sighed. "It's bad."

"How bad?" Kit whimpered.

"Not bad enough that I can't fix it," Mila replied, combing her hand through Kit's dark hair. "But you're gonna have to be brave, buddy. I can't get you into the OR, so we've gotta do it right here." Her head popped up. "Hey Wex!" she called.

Wex turned and dropped next to her. He looked panicked. "What do you need?"

"He needs sedatives. Heavy ones. This isn't going to be pretty."

Wex flinched.

Mila grew impatient. "What?"

"Did you hear that explosion?" he ventured uneasily.

"Yeah..."

"That was the other medical cruiser. It… it just got hit."

" _What?_ " Mila's eyes grew wide. Panic gripped her heart.

"The others, Sergeant," she stammered. "There was a squad that stayed behind to run shop. Have you heard _—"_

"They're dead, Lieutenant. The whole cruiser blew. Took a good chunk of our guys _and_ what we had left of the pain killers with it."

Kit's eyes got huge. "W-What?"

Poe's jaw tightened. "Are there any more here?" he asked.

"Not unless Lieutenant Criss still has some."

Mila quickly pawed through her pack and pulled out one lone syringe. "This is all I've got," she said, shaking her head and flicking at the side to get the medicine to sink farther down. "And it's not even all the way full. It wouldn't even numb a paper cut." She stuck the needle into Kit's leg. "But we'll try it. Hopefully it will take some of the edge off."

Poe's tanned complexion paled. Kit started trembling.

Mila looked back at Poe. "I need you to hold him down," she said, pulling on latex gloves and starting to pull out various sharp instruments from her pack.

Poe's eyes popped, and his voice dropped angrily. "Wait a minute. You could get more sedatives on Hosnian, Lieutenant. If he can hold on for that much longer—"

"He doesn't have that much time, Commander," Mila said shortly.

Kit whimpered.

Poe's face hardened. "He's going to be in a lot of pain, Lieutenant."

"You think I don't know that?" Mila snapped, starting to get angry. "Hold him down, that's an order!"

His eyes flashed. "You can't give me orders, Lieutenant!"

"As long as he is my patient, then yes, I _can_ give you orders!" Mila barked. "Under the circumstances, I could order a general around right now! If I don't get that shrapnel out of his stomach, he dies! Do you want him to die, Commander?"

Taken aback and flustered, Poe shook his head.

"Then you will hold. Him. Down."

Poe sighed nervously, his hands gripping Kit's shoulders. "Hey, buddy," he soothed, swallowing his anger like a pill that didn't quite want to go down. He pulled Kit's head into his lap and ran his thumb along his temple to let him know without a shadow of a doubt that he was there and wasn't going anywhere.

"Keep his attention on you, Commander," Mila advised, her voice softening. She almost sounded guilty. "Don't let him look down here."

Poe nodded. "Hey, look at me, bud. I'm right here. You're gonna be okay."

Kit nodded, fear eating away at his confidence.

"Poe!" a voice called, followed by the worried chirping of an astromech droid.

Poe's head snapped up. "Karé! Get over here, we need help!"

Karé sped over and sank to her knees next to her commanding officer. She looked at Mila. "What do you need me to do?"

"Hold him down," Mila said, her voice beginning to falter. "Try to keep him calm."

It was evident that the medic liked the situation about as much as the Rapiers did.

"Hey there, baby face," Karé smiled, reaching down and gripping one of Kit's shoulders. "It's Karé. We're gonna get you fixed up."

Kit chuckled weakly. "I-If I get through this, w-will you stop calling me that?"

Karé snickered. "Not a chance, kid."

The little spherical droid that rolled in with Karé chirped.

"S-See?" Kit managed. "Even BB-8 thinks it's derogatory."

Poe shook his head, grinning. Though he desperately tried to hide it, adrenaline and fear shook his hands. The smile on his face faded. He clenched his jaw.

"You ready?" Mila asked.

Poe and Karé both nodded.

Karé ran a hand through Kit's hair and grabbed his hand. "You've got this, buddy," she encouraged.

Slowly, Kit nodded. There were tears in his eyes.

Karé kissed his forehead. "You're gonna be okay," she whispered, giving his clammy hand a squeeze. "I promise."

Mila blew out a shaky breath. She clenched her eyes shut, bit her lip, and grabbed the shrapnel, slowly pulling it out as to not cause any more damage.

Kit screamed. His eyes drooped.

"Hold on, Rapier Five!" Poe encouraged. "She's almost got it. It's almost over. Don't you quit on us now!"

The shrapnel, about a standard foot long, finally cleared his bloodied flight suit. Mila smiled briefly. "Now all I have to do is close you back up, and you'll be done," she said, quickly snatching up a laser cauterizer. "Hang in there."

She fired up the device and closed up the wall of his stomach. Kit cried out. Then she moved to the entrance wound itself, sighing when the last of the bloody opening sealed back up.

Mila smiled so wide it hurt. "Done," she said. She looked at Kit, who was crying with relief. She put a hand on his shoulder. "You're the bravest patient I have ever had. Hands down."

Kit nodded. He grabbed Mila's hand and squeezed it. "Th-Thank you, Lieutenant."

Mila took off her gloves and smiled, running her hand through his hair and gently massaging his scalp. His eyes slowly closed, and his muscles relaxed.

Poe grinned in disbelief. "It's all over, buddy," he reassured, gently patting Kit's shoulder. "Take it easy."

"What'd we tell ya?" Karé beamed. "Piece of cake."

Kit grinned.

Mila's heart swelled. "We're going to move you to an ICU here soon," she said softly. "Hook you up with some bacta. That'll take a lot of the pain away." She released his hand and stood. "I'm going to go get that set up now, so you don't have to wait any longer."

Kit nodded gratefully.

"Should I come with you, Lieutenant?" Poe asked. "It could help to have me around."

Mila nodded. "That it could. When the request comes from the CO, med tends to be a little quicker about seeing to it."

"I'll take him, then," Karé said, reaching out and pulling Kit into her lap. His head sank into the crook of her arm, and he closed his eyes, smiling gratefully. "You go ahead and go, Poe." She ran her fingers through Kit's hair. "I'll keep watch here."

* * *

_*Medical and Military terms/abbreviations_

_Noncom: Noncommissioned officer. Any officer below 2nd Lieutenant is a noncom._

_CO: Commanding officer_

_OR: Operating room_

_ICU: Intensive care unit_


	2. Rapier One

_Chapter 2: Rapier One_

"Major Krell!" Mila called, worming her way to her commanding officer past instruments and various holo displays. "We have an emergency—"

"In case you haven't noticed, Lieutenant," the major said coolly, "this entire situation is an emergency."

Major Krell was probably the hardest major Mila had ever served under. She was about the human equivalent of a glacier: graceful, towering, and cold. She'd never been particularly fond of Mila – Mila had never figured out why – and over the several years the young lieutenant had been under her command, she had taken every opportunity to show it. Calculating and aloof, she looked over her shoulder at Mila, her icy blue eyes delivering a silent, condescending scoff.

"So whatever your… emergency… is, it better be worthwhile."

Mila pursed her lips together. "I need a bacta tank. Patient suffered a gut wound and head trauma, among other things."

Sighing through her nose, Major Krell turned to fully face the lieutenant. "Such as?"

"Smoke inhalation, third-degree burns on his ankles, feet, and palms, and two broken ribs."

Major Krell's eyes lifted to look past Mila's shoulder to the speaker. "Lieutenant, who is this?"

"Commander Poe Dameron," he said, extending his hand. "The patient in question is one of my men."

The major nodded and took it, Poe jumping a little bit at the coldness of her touch.

"I will see what I can do," she said, dropping his hand. "Losing that other cruiser has done nothing to help us."

Poe nodded, his face falling a little bit.

"If it makes any difference, ma'am," Mila cut in, "he's already lost two of his squad today." She looked up at Poe. "And I don't think he plans on losing a third."

"No, I don't."

Major Krell sighed dismissively. "I will see what I can do."

She shot Mila a less than savory - or, Mila thought, justified - glare as she turned and walked away, her wrinkled nose ordering Mila and Poe without words to get out of her sight. Mila took a deep breath and followed.

"How many tanks are on this vessel?" she asked.

The major stiffened. "Seven."

"And they're all in use?"

Krell looked down at one of the screens. "Affirmative."

Mila nervously bit at her lip. "He's young, Major. Really young. He's already been through a lot. I saw to his gut wound and sewed it up as soon as we got back."

Krell's eyes popped. "He made it into the OR?"

Mila looked like a child preparing to be stuck across the face.

Krell turned an ice blue eye towards the lieutenant. "Well?"

"I was forced to operate in the hallway outside," Mila replied. "And I wasn't the only one. There was – and probably still is – a line. Outside the door. It's… bad."

Krell's face showed a microscopic hint of emotion. "How many?"

"At least twenty. Maybe more."

Krell frowned, muttering something about a break in protocol that neither Poe nor Mila quite caught. Poe bristled.

"I don't know about the others," he said, stepping up next to Mila, "but 2nd Lieutenant Anderon is alive because of her. Had she waited any longer, he would have bled out. And three more of my pilots would be dead, as opposed to only two more. Rapier owes her a lot."

Mila felt his warm hand grip her shoulder, and she blushed a little. She'd never been one for a ton of compliments, and when they came around, she never knew how to handle them.

"He's out in the hallway now with one of my lieutenants, if you have any interest in seeing him."

Krell raised an eyebrow at them both. "I'm surprised he survived," she said cynically, shooting Mila a less-than-appreciative glare. "Take me to him, Lieutenant."

Mila nodded. "This way," she said, turning around and briskly walking back towards the hallway.

When she rounded the corner, she found Karé cradling a sleeping Kit in her arms, with two other members of Rapier Squadron sitting on either side of her. One was human; one was a Keshian.

"So this is who we've heard so much about," the Keshian said, standing and smiling at Mila and extending his hand. "Lieutenant Iolo Arana."

"Mila Criss," she replied. She shook his hand, relieved that he didn't seem appalled by the fact that her arms and shirt were covered in dried blood.

"That's Lieutenant Muran, and Lieutenant Karé Kun," he went on, motioning towards the two other lieutenants. "We owe you a lot, Lieutenant," he added, looking down at Kit. "If only Ten and Twelve had been so lucky."

Poe hung his head and nodded. Mila fought the urge to lay her small hand on his arm.

Krell kneeled down in front of Karé, gently brushing a dark curl from Kit's sleeping face. His dark eyes fluttered open, and he recoiled under her touch. He laughed a little.

"Your hands are cold, Major," he whispered. Poe stifled a laugh.

Krell smiled a little. "Apologies, Lieutenant."

"Nah, you're fine. Actually feels pretty good."

Karé snickered.

"Can you look at me, Lieutenant?" Krell asked.

Kit's dark eyes drifted to meet Krell's light ones. When they met, her brow furrowed.

"Do you remember hitting your head?"

Kit nodded.

"Where?"

"Where the blood is, Major." He smirked. "Thought that one was obvious."

Krell bit back a laugh, gently parting his curls to get a better look at the wound. A large bump had formed next to it.

"Does it hurt?"

Kit sighed. "Like hell."

Krell eyed the patient, looking directly into his eyes. "And your pupils are dilated. You've got a concussion." She looked down at the still-cut-open flight suit, at the newly cauterized wound. "But from the look and sound of it, you've had much worse."

Kit's eyes wandered up to Mila's, and he smiled. "But if it had to happen, I was definitely in the right place at the right time."

Mila looked at the floor, once again not knowing how to respond. A smile slipped across her face. Poe patted her shoulder.

Krell stood and faced Mila. "Lieutenant, take them to Bay 12. There's a bacta tank warmed up and ready for him. We just need to get him in it."

Every Rapier present breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Mila nodded, smiling. "Thank you, Major."

Krell nodded and moved down the hallway towards the other groups.

Poe beamed. "C'mere, buddy," he said, kneeling next to Karé and gently hoisting Kit onto his back. "About time the lieutenant finished the job, don't you think?"

He grinned at Mila, and everything in his tired face sighed a silent thank you.

* * *

Kit fell asleep as soon as they submerged him, his steady breaths echoing through the mask in the tank and all over the room. Even in his sleep, a smile gently tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Because that bacta treatment just felt so… good….

Mila bustled from control to control, getting the settings just right to treat his specific wounds. She sat in the corner, recording vital signs and filling out an incident report. Her mind reeled from the battle beforehand. She had stood close enough to the anti-starfighter gun that shot down Kit to see that it was well-made and taken care of.

In fact, it looked new. Operated like it was new.

If they had truly been dealing with pirates, that gun would have been falling apart. It wouldn't have been that accurate.

Kit wouldn't have been hit.

How long would it be before the Republic admitted the truth? The Senate was so wrapped up in avoiding a war. Who was to say that they wouldn't try to deny the facts to keep that from happening?

All the remaining Rapiers had set up camp around their wounded comrade, two of them stacking blankets one on top of the other in an attempt to make beds on the hard floor. Muran had a cot. Karé claimed the couch, stretching her long legs out in front of her and combing out her freshly washed hair. Iolo curled up in a chair that he found, reading on a datapad.

But Poe stood in front of the bacta tank, watching his young friend float up and down in the liquid.

"Refresher's open, Poe, if you wanna take a shower," Karé piped up, looking at her friend intently.

He nodded, but didn't move. His face was sullen.

"Hey, Rapier One," Karé said, swinging her bare feet to the ground and walking up behind him. "You okay? You're looking a little grim."

Poe sighed. "I want to know who did it, Karé. Who keeps doing it. Seven and Eight last month; Nine last week. Ten, Twelve, and almost Five tonight. If my guys are dying, I want to know who's responsible." He clenched his jaw. "And Command isn't telling us a damn thing."

"Space pirates, Poe," Iolo interjected. "That's what the official report says."

"Lieutenant, they _all_ say that. I'm beginning to think—" He stopped and shook his head. "Nah. There's no way they'd do that to us."

"Do what to us?" Karé asked.

Poe tensed. "Lie."

Mila's brow furrowed, and her head shot up. "Lie?"

Poe and Karé turned and jumped a little bit. Mila had been so quiet that they had forgotten she was there.

"Sorry," the lieutenant went on. "Didn't mean to eavesdrop."

Poe shook his head. "No, no. You're fine." He sighed. "As a matter of fact, we could use a second opinion. You were on the ground. What did you see? Did those guns look like something pirates would use?"

Mila bit her lip and looked at the floor. "Not unless they've been stealing from General Hux."

Poe raised his eyebrows and looked at Karé, holding his hand out towards Mila as if he were trying to present her. "See? I'm not the only one thinking like I am. Pirates can't get equipment that advanced. Not even the really, really good ones. You've seen them on patrol a thousand times, Rapier Two. You know that."

Karé nodded. Iolo sighed.

"I don't think they'll do anything until you have to run a squad of TIEs off, Commander," Mila said hesitantly, standing up and coming up between the two Rapiers. "Maybe the Senate doesn't have enough evidence to cry foul. That's what I keep trying to tell myself." She looked up at Kit in the bacta tank. "Even if I don't believe it."

Poe's jaw clenched. "It's going to take something more catastrophic than that to wake them up."

Karé nodded and sighed. "Well, on that note," she said. "It's been a long day. I think I'm gonna hit the sack." She turned to Mila. "Wake me up if anything changes, Lieutenant. Or if you need help with anything. I'll be glad to give it."

Mila nodded. "Thanks, Lieutenant."

Karé grinned. "Call me Karé."

Mila smiled. "Goodnight, Karé."

Karé smiled back and walked over to her couch. "Night, everybody." She laid down. "And seriously, go take a shower, Poe," she added without turning around. "You smell like the rear end of a wet bantha."

Poe smirked. "Least I don't look like one."

"Ohhh!" Iolo exclaimed, snickering.

Karé laughed out loud. Mila fought hard not to and failed.

"See?" Karé continued. "Even Lieutenant Criss agrees with me!"

A smile cracked across Poe's face. "Get some sleep, Lieutenant Kun."

Karé snickered. "Sir yes sir, Commander, sir," she yawned, pulling her blanket over the tops of her shoulders and wrestling with it until she fit her feet underneath.

Poe rolled his eyes, shaking his head and laughing softly. He sniffed the shoulder of his flight suit and recoiled, making a face.

"Kriff, that _does_ stink," he said to himself, turning towards the refresher door and picking up a small black duffle from the ground. BB-8 beeped at him.

"Working on that, buddy."

The droid chirped again.

Poe scoffed, his mouth hanging open in a smiling gape. "Don't you start with that with me, buddy," he said, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter as he waved an index finger at the droid. "You don't have scent receptors."

Mila fought with everything in her to keep a straight face.

Poe nodded towards the rest of the squad. "Keep an eye on them for me, will you, buddy?"

BB-8 chirped back, rocking back and forth as he talked to his master.

Poe laughed. "Yes, you can go talk to her. Just—" he turned on the droid's binary translator "—you might need that."

BB-8 whistled a thank you and rolled towards the bacta tank. His domed face tilted up to look at Kit, and he made a sighing sound, his head sinking towards the floor.

"He's okay, buddy," Poe called over his shoulder, standing right in front of the refresher door. "It's like I said. He's in good hands."

He grinned at Mila, whose eyes dropped to the floor and back to meet his as a smile eased across her face.

BB-8 gently nudged her leg, and the last thing Poe saw before shutting the door behind him was Mila getting down on one knee in front of his droid, her face brightening up as if she was talking to an overly excited child.

He softly smiled to himself. "And keep an eye on her, too, buddy, while you're at it."


	3. Call Me Poe

_Chapter 3: Call Me Poe_

BB-8 looked up at the bacta tank curiously. If he were human, Mila swore he would be gaping a little. The droid whistled and beeped, his head swiveling towards Mila as he rocked back in forth in rhythm with his binary speak.

Mila read the translator and smiled. "He'll be in there for the better part of the night, little buddy," she said. "Then I'll take him out and assess his vitals again, just to make sure everything's running the way it should."

BB-8 beeped again, and the question he asked made Mila giggle a little.

"No, his motivator isn't broken," she said with a smile. "He's just… had some circuits blown. A few loose wires, that's all. He'll be up and running before you know it. Bacta's good stuff."

BB-8 chirped in understanding, his little head turning back to the tank to look up at Kit. He watched for a few minutes, eerily resembling the composure his master had held when he stood in the same spot several minutes before.

But while Poe was familiar with this form of treatment – perhaps even received it himself – Mila wondered if his droid had ever seen it before. BB-8's curiosity held the palpability of that of a young child's, resting somewhere between fascinated and horrified as his photoreceptor took in the sight in front of him.

His little head drooped, and the sigh he made afterwards sounded a lot like a yawn.

"Wanna get plugged in, bud?" Mila asked. "Charger's right over there. I'd be more than happy to hook you up."

BB-8 whistled gratefully, rolling slowly over towards the wall. The charging station sat about two feet away from an empty cot, close to the head. The little droid took up his spot and turned to face Mila, chirping happily as she plugged him in.

His head swiveled so his receptors looked just behind her, and the little droid softly squealed. Mila looked over her shoulder.

Poe stood a few feet behind her, dressed in a baggy olive drab t-shirt and the brown pants from his fatigues. He grinned. "Running out of steam, buddy?" he asked his droid.

BB-8 chirped and bobbed his head up and down, almost as if he were nodding.

"Yeah. Me, too. It's been a rough day." He turned to Mila as she stood. "Thanks, Lieutenant."

Mila nodded, smiling a little. "Don't mention it."

Poe nodded towards the center of the room. "How's he doing?" he asked, his bare feet softly tapping the floor as he moved to stand in front of bacta tank.

"Better," Mila replied, coming up beside him. "The burns on his ankles are almost gone. And it looks like that gash on his head has shrunk. Shrapnel puncture's taking its sweet time, but at least it's getting somewhere." She turned to look at him. "But odds are he'll make a full recovery, Commander. It'll take some time, but there's a good chance he will. You don't have to worry about him."

Poe chuckled dismally. "I'm his CO. Worrying's part of my job."

Mila nodded understandingly. "Heard that."

The two stood in silence for a bit, watching the young pilot float in the bacta tank.

"I saw you," Poe finally broke the silence. "Breaking into the canopy of his fighter. Pulling him out." He searched her face for a moment. "Those fuel cells were shot; they were leaking all over the place. They blew less than a minute after you got him on that transport." He shook his head, a smile gently pulling at the corners of his mouth. "One of the bravest damn things I've ever seen anyone do. I mean it."

Mila grinned sheepishly. "I just do what I have to do, Commander. That's all there is to it. I came out here to save lives, and that's exactly what I plan to keep on doing." She looked up at the bacta tank. "I don't really care what happens to me in the process. As long as they make it out okay, it's fine by me. And he did."

Poe nodded towards the rest of his squadron, which slept behind him. "They all adore him. Especially Karé. The second he came, she took him under her wing. They're inseparable." He looked over at his second-in-command, who was fast asleep on her couch. The smile on his face faded.

"She saw him get hit. Screamed at him to eject, but he panicked. Didn't get a hold on the handle in time, and he went down. Hard. You saw." He sighed. "He's been the one holding us together through all this, Lieutenant. Holding us to the Republic. If we had lost him…." He stopped, not letting himself finish the thought.

Mila found herself at a complete loss for words.

"You've done more for us than you realize," Poe said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. A warm, unmistakable gratefulness rested in his tired eyes. "Rapier owes you a lot. If you and your platoon ever need _anything_ , just say the word. We'll be there. It's the least we can do."

Mila smiled at him, genuinely touched. "Thank you. That means a lot." She nodded towards his cot. "Now go get some sleep. Force knows you need it."

Poe nodded sleepily, meandering towards his cot and unceremoniously flopping on it. "Wake me up if anything changes, Lieutenant," he said, craning his neck over the rest of his body so he could still see her.

"I will. Goodnight, Commander."

"Night," he replied, yawning.

He rolled over on his side and passed out before his blanket even had time to settle on him. Mila couldn't help but smile a little bit.

Wearily, she headed over to a chair in the opposite corner, sitting down and intending to finish up the incident report.

Instead, she fell asleep.

* * *

Mila woke up with a start a few hours later as a soft alarm went off, her neck stiff from having been bent forward on her chest. As if on autopilot, she made her way towards the bacta tank. Her fingers danced over the controls, and the top of the tank slid to the side with a hiss. Kit limply floated to the top. A few medical droids carefully picked the young pilot up, laying him on a sterile table.

Mila checked his wounds. The burns around his ankles and feet were gone; the swelling on his temple had gone down significantly. She gently parted his black hair to get a better look at the gash, which was growing the soft starts of a scab. Gingerly, she ran her fingers over the top of a long, nasty incision mark on his anatomic left, just above his stomach. Her fingers softly felt for abnormalities, which she detected none of. Even his broken ribs had regained strength.

She reached for a few towels that one of the droids had brought with it and kept warm. As gently as she could, she patted the fluid from Kit's body and dried his hair a little bit. A clean set of baggy medcenter clothes sat on the bed that the driods had made, and she slipped them over the pilot's mostly bare skin.

The driods lifted him from the table and into the bed, which sat next to a massive window. Karé had said Kit would like to see the stars when he woke up, so she requested to have it put there. Now, the ship sped through the hyperspace tunnel, so there wasn't too much to see, but as soon as they came out of lightspeed, the view of realspace would be spectacular.

Adjusting the blankets until they reached up over Kit's lean shoulders, Mila studied the young man's face. Though it was unnaturally paled by blood loss, which the driods were now working on remedying, his skin was incredibly fair. Freckles spotted his nose and the tops of his cheeks, and his thin lips lay curled into a content half-smile.

It was then Mila noticed just how young he was. He couldn't have been a day over nineteen.

She sat on the edge of his bed and combed her fingers through his hair. "You're quite the fighter, Kit," she whispered, gently pushing a piece of his hair out of his face. "The rest of your squad's gonna be happy to see you when you wake up."

The cruiser came out of lightspeed into realspace, and the stars appeared in front of her. Mila lost her breath. The sky was completely peppered with them, dotted here and there with distant colors of planetary systems.

Kit drew a deep breath, and his deep brown eyes fluttered open.

"Lieutenant?" he said feebly.

"Hey, buddy!" Mila whispered, beaming. "How are you feeling?"

Kit squeezed his eyes shut. "My side still hurts. But my head doesn't. And I don't feel anything around my legs."

"Your burns are gone," Mila gently reported. "The swelling and the gash on your head have healed up a good bit, and the wound on your gut looks a lot better." She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "You're healing up nicely."

Kit smiled weakly. "Where… where's everybody else?"

Mila stood up. "Look around you."

Kit craned his neck a little bit, and his smile broadened as he realized they were all with him.

"They wouldn't leave you if their lives depended on it," Mila softly reassured. "Especially not now."

Kit grinned, lying back down and looking to his left. His face lit up.

"Man, you can really see everything up here, can't you?" he said breathlessly. He pointed to one of the systems. "That's Dantooine off in the distance right there. See it?"

Mila nodded.

"And that one under it is Ord Mantell." He pointed to a larger, steel blue dot in the sky. "And that's Mandalore." He snickered. "Wouldn't recommend either one of them for a day trip. 'Specially Mantell. It can get kinda rough."

Someone towards the back of the room stirred, and they both heard footsteps.

"Oh, no," Poe lightheartedly called from the other side of the room. "You gonna make her suffer through one of your astronomy crash-courses, Lieutenant?" He quickly made his way to Kit's bedside, laughing.

Kit's face brightened even more at the sight of his commanding officer. "Poe!"

Poe smiled so wide it hurt as he sat on his friend's bedside. "How're you feeling, buddy?"

Kit sighed. "I'm alive, aren't I?" he joked.

Poe laughed.

"I'm doing okay. I'm just sore. And _really_ thirsty…."

"Here," Mila said, handing the pilot a bottle of water. "Sip on that. Losing that much blood will do it to you faster than anything will." She stood up. "See if we can't get an IV in here to get you hydrated again."

Poe's eyes popped. "You medics ever sleep?" he said, looking at Mila.

Mila chuckled softly. "When we've got two cruisers that are fully staffed, we do. When one of them gets blown out of the sky… not so much." She smiled a little. "I'll be right back."

Poe nodded, softly laughing at her sarcasm as she left the room in search of needed equipment. He turned back to Kit.

"We were afraid we were gonna lose you, buddy. We almost did. You've fought hard." He put a hand on Kit's slim shoulder. "It's good to have you back, Rapier Five. You scared the kriff out of us."

Kit smiled wryly. "Yeah. Sorry 'bout that…."

Poe grinned and ruffled the young pilot's hair. "Nerfherder," he snickered.

Kit laughed softly. "Where's Karé?" he asked, looking around.

"Couch," Poe said, nodding in its direction. "She's out cold."

Kit smiled. "Let her sleep, then. She probably needs it." He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head, watching Lieutenant Criss as she passed through the threshold. A grin slipped across his face. "I'm a lucky guy, aren't I, Commander?"

Poe nodded. "Came out of that one by the skin of your teeth."

"No, no," Kit chuckled. "That's not what I meant. Well… sort of. She saved my life." He grinned. "But she's kind of cute, don't you think?"

"She's too old for you, Anderon."

Kit sat up a little. "Oh, so _you've_ got _your_ eye on her, then?"

Poe recoiled, shaking his head and scoffing. "Haven't known her long enough to, pal."

Kit grinned mischievously. "You keep telling yourself that. I'll be your best man when you marry her."

Poe laughed outright. "That's the pain killer talking. And I'm not interested."

Kit shrugged. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Commander." He smirked side-long, clearly enjoying having enough energy to tease his long-time friend. "She's gonna get that ring."

An exasperated smile slipped across Poe's face. "Sure, buddy. Sure."

The doors at the other end of the room opened, and Mila came through with a medical droid. "Alright, Kit," she said. "This should help you out a lot. Let me see your arm."

The young pilot stretched his right arm out in her direction, his head turning towards the window. Mila felt around on his arm for a while, finding a vein and cleaning the site.

"This'll pinch," she warned. Kit flinched a little as the needle went in, sighing when Mila secured the tube to his skin.

"There," she said. She put a hand on Kit's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Kit looked down towards his stomach. "Barely felt it," he joked.

Mila and Poe both chuckled.

A large, orange gas giant grew out from the bottom window frame, glowing in the relative blackness. Kit lost his breath.

"Man, Poe," he said. "When you said it was big, you weren't kidding."

"Which system is that?" Mila asked, looking up.

"That's Yavin," Poe answered, his voice laced with nostalgia. "And that little dark dot in front of it—" he indicated to where he was mentioning with his index finger "—is Yavin IV." He smiled a little. "That's home."

"You're a Colonist?" Mila exclaimed, her face brightening with curiosity and surprise.

Poe nodded, enthused by her interest. "That I am." He looked out at the gas giant, his eyes trapped in a distant memory. "Mom used to take me up in her A-Wing, when I was a kid. I'd sit on her lap with my hands on the stick, her hands over mine. We flew right out here more times that I can count." He grinned, though a tinge of grief rested in his dark gaze. "So whenever I hit realspace here now, I always think of her."

He sat in silence for a bit, drifting off into the soft haze of his wistfulness with a faint smile on his lips. Mila watched him for a second, the orange light from the gas giant illuminating his face and dancing in his deep brown eyes. Though his features were relatively sharp, even a bit proud to those that didn't know him well enough, a noticeable softness rested behind them, the type no one would expect from a starfighter of his caliber. Compassion rested in his eyes, the kind that was easy to get lost in.

A few hours before, Poe Dameron had only been a little more than a name. But after meeting him, especially after seeing how well he looked after his squadron, Mila decided she liked the man that the name stood for.

"What about you, Lieutenant?" Kit suddenly asked. "Where're you from?"

Mila turned, falling out of the stupor she didn't realize she was in. "What was that?"

"Where're you from?"

"Oh," Mila chuckled a little. "I'm from Hosnian."

"Me, too! What part?"

"Senate district. Not terribly far from base. What about you?"

"Same area!" His face lit up. "Small galaxy, huh?"

For a few moments, patient and doctor went on about home, exchanging stories about this landmark and that. Though it was exhausted, Mila's face visibly brightened as she talked about her parents and three brothers, recounting for Kit all the trouble they got into as kids. Kit listened intently, meeting her newfound energy as he went on about his small family, a little diner in the middle levels that was impossible to find but impossible to forget if you found it, and the adolescent mayhem of his Academy days. Poe couldn't help but grin as he watched them.

"—but General Antilles walked in on them one night, and that was the end of that." He laughed. "Thought he was gonna blow a circuit. It was pretty bad for Marc and Jessa, but the rest of us thought it was kriffing _hilarious_."

Mila cracked up. "Something like that happened to my roommate. Except she was found on the floor in a utility closet…."

Poe snickered loudly.

Kit grinned mischievously, his smug gaze boring into Poe. "That sounds a little like the Aleena Tavik incident," he dragged out.

Poe's eyes bugged, a tinge of embarrassment warming his face. "Don't even think about it, Lieutenant."

"Oh," Kit sighed, reveling in his commanding officer's mortified torment as a sleazy grin flashed across his face. He drummed his fingers together calculatingly as his eyes dramatically rolled towards Mila. "To spill…. Or _not_ to spill…."

Poe laughed nervously. "Anderon, I swear—"

"It's a sweeping tale of passion and stupidity. Very gripping. Very _scandalous_."

"Kit—"

Kit turned enthusiastically towards Mila. "It was a warm summer evening—"

" _No!_ "

"Oh, yes. It was a warm summer evening back on Hosnian—"

Poe looked dead inside. "I'm _begging_ you, Anderon," he pleaded, his voice shaking with suppressed, nervous laughter. "Shut. Up."

Kit laughed until tears streamed down his face. "Alright, alright. I'll have mercy on your bugslut soul."

Poe heavily sighed with relief. " _Thank_ you."

Kit grinned. "You better be glad Karé's not awake. She'd have chucked your butt under the speeder _so_ fast."

Mila cracked up, shaking her head. Part of her wanted to know; most of her was glad she didn't. She grinned at her patient.

"I'll be back to check up on you in a few hours, Kit," she informed, handing him a comlink. "But if you need anything before then, comm me, alright?"

Kit nodded. "Thanks, doc."

"Don't mention it." She laid a hand on Kit's shoulder. "Get some rest. You need it." She looked at Poe. "And that goes for you, too, Commander."

"Call me Poe."

Mila smiled, a little taken aback by the sudden sureness of the commander's request.

"And look after yourself, too, Lieutenant. Please."

Mila nodded, her smile broadening a little. "I will." She took a few steps backwards, suddenly finding it hard to leave. "And you can call me Mila." She nodded towards Kit. "Both of you."

Poe smiled softly. "Goodnight, Lieuten—Mila."

"Goodnight, Poe."

She turned to leave, heading back towards the door and walking through a maze of white hallways to her quarters. She gratefully took a shower and changed out of her bloodied uniform, settling down on her cot with a relieved moan.

And as she finally drifted sleep that night, she realized she had savored the feel of the commander's name on her lips a little too much.


	4. Homecoming

_Chapter 4: Homecoming_

She needed to wake him up. She needed to tell him they were making planetfall. That they would be back on base in less than an hour and that Command was going to be looking for him.

But standing beside his cot, watching his chest gently rise and fall from underneath the blanket that was loosely tucked under his arm, Mila couldn't bring herself to.

Over and over, her hand had moved to grasp Poe's shoulder. To gently shake him awake. And every time, it had recoiled into a nervous fist.

He needed the sleep. Badly. Especially after the night he'd had.

But it wasn't his desperate need of a recharge that stymied her.

It was his face, Mila finally decided. Beforehand, it had been exhausted, deep brown eyes lit with worry, his brows knitted in aggravated confusion, his jaw tight with apprehension as he tried to piece together what had happened. As he wrestled with concern for the future of his fallen friend.

But now, as he slept, there was peace. Quiet. Rest.

As the light from Hosnian's sun warmed his relaxed features, Mila wasn't sure she wanted to take that from him yet. She inwardly chastised herself for hesitating, forcing her hand forwards again.

Only to arrive at the same place where she started.

Finally, she made herself do it. Her small fingers wrapped around the edge of his shoulder, the fabric from his shirt warm and soft under her skin, and gave him a gentle shake.

"Poe," she said softly. "Commander, wake up."

His brow furrowed, and his eyes flickered open.

"Hey," he greeted with a soft, sleepy smile, his voice deep and tired as he sat up and stretched. "I miss something?"

"We're making planetfall," Mila reported, feeling inexplicably dazed as his eyes met hers. "We'll be back on base in less than an hour."

Nodding, Poe squeezed his eyes shut and raked his hand over his face, almost as if he was wiping the rest of the sleepiness from it. "Thanks for letting me know."

He rolled over and tapped BB-8 lightly on the top of his dome, smiling a little as the droid came to life under his palm. BB-8 beeped a greeting and rolled forwards, only to have the charger cord yank him to a stop. He beeped in dismay.

"Hang on, buddy," Poe laughed, sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the cot. "I got it. There. Try it again."

BB-8 beeped happily, rolling backwards and watching as his master stood and grabbed his flight boots and pulled a sand-colored flight jacket over his shoulders.

"Where are the others?" he asked, looking around the room with a furrowed brow as he noticed the rest of his squadron had disappeared.

"They went for breakfast," Mila reported, walking across the room towards Kit's bed as she spoke. "Decided to let you sleep. You needed it."

Poe nodded, walking up behind her and looking down at a sleeping Kit. "How is he?"

Mila grinned, glancing over the various scanners and monitors that her patient was plugged into. "When I talked to him last, he said he was hungry enough to eat the whole cruiser. That's always a good sign."

Poe laughed, shaking his head and looking down at the young pilot. "There's the Kit we all know and love," he chuckled. He gripped his friend's shoulder and took a step back. "I'll let you get back to work, Lieu—Mila."

Mila smiled at him and nodded.

An amber light engulfed the entire room as the cruiser sank into Hosnian's atmosphere. Poe squinted a little as his eyes adjusted, looking back to where Mila was working, and his feet suddenly refused to back up another centimeter.

The warm colors from Hosnian's sunrise softened the lieutenant's already soft features even further, the flecks of green in her hazel eyes popping under the light. Quietly she worked on, her fingers gracefully dancing across the controls, her full lips slightly parted and her brow knitted in concentration as she took her patient's vitals. One of her hands – small and soft and gentle – brushed a stray lock from Kit's face as she examined the wound on his temple. The movement was so quiet, so tender, that Kit hardly stirred under her touch. In fact, he seemed to melt under it.

Poe watched for a moment, fascinated by how she could be so efficient and so soothing all at once. The last time he had seen her, she had been covered in soot and dried blood, her face drained of any and all energy as her brown hair lazily sagged out of her ponytail. Now that she had gotten some rest and was no longer seeped in stress, he noticed something he hadn't seen before.

She was a beautiful woman.

Something strange – something warm – stirred within him, and he found it next to impossible to look away. The corner of his lips curled upwards in an indulgent half-smile as he shamelessly took her in. Part of him chastised himself for it; the rest of him could care less.

Suddenly his comm beeped, and he was snatched from his stupor. He dug the device from one of his pockets and answered.

"Dameron, here."

"Commander Dameron," a voice came from the other side. "This is Major Deso. Command requests you and your squadron to report to headquarters as soon as you arrive. They have some questions for you."

Poe nodded. "Yes, sir. We'll be there."

"It's good to have you back, Commander. We will see you then."

Poe smiled, and for reasons she couldn't explain, Mila felt her heart flutter at the sight of it.

"Alright. Dameron out."

He returned the comlink to his pocket.

"Reconnaissance of some kind?"

Poe looked up, finding Mila's eyes and involuntarily searching them for a second.

"Not sure," he answered with a little bit of a shrug. "But if I'm going to Republic Command—" his dark eyes flicked upwards to his nappy hair as he stepped back "—then I've got some work to do."

Mila laughed softly. "Then you'd better get on it. We're not far out at all."

Poe shot her another crooked grin – one that effectively robbed the breath from her lungs – and picked up his duffel. BB-8 beeped at him.

"I'd rather you stand watch here, buddy," Poe said. "When they come back, I need you to tell them what we're doing. And make sure they're all alright."

The droid whistled and cooed again, his little body rocking in rhythm to his binary-speak.

"Yeah." He looked over at Mila as she worked, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Her, too. She's earned it."

Once again drifting into that gentle trance as Mila's silhouette glided to the other side of Kit's bed, Poe disappeared behind the refresher door. He flicked on the lights and abruptly froze. His brow furrowed, and found himself suddenly short of breath.

_What the hell has gotten into me?_

With enough force to tear the hull off a freighter, his rational mind ripped him out of his stupor, shaking him back to reality as a flotilla of questions suddenly barraged him. He clenched his eyes shut and shook his head, gaping a little bit as he hastily fought for the answers.

 _I'm just glad to be back, that's all,_ he convinced himself. _After all the hell we've been through the past few days or so, it's just good to see something familiar._ He smiled with relief, confident in his answer. _Yeah. That's it._

But even though everything within him tried to deny it, he couldn't ignore that his heart was shyly beginning sing her name.

* * *

Republic City, Hosnian Prime's capitol, strongly resembled the cityscape of Coruscant, but it was cleaner. Prettier. More graceful. Thousand-story buildings rose up from the bottom of the large window by Kit's bed, the distant, grass-banked river occasionally peaking out between the spaces between them. Mila couldn't help but smile as she took it all in.

After the nightmare that the attack on Dantooine had been, it was good to finally be home. Kit had elected to use a stronger turn of phrase when he described the feeling, but they both agreed.

Voices and footsteps traveled through the room to her ears, and she turned around, smiling as the rest of Rapier Squadron passed through the door. Kit's face lit up.

"Karé!" he called, absolutely beaming.

Karé's jaw fell slack, and her face flooded with relief.

"Kit!" she just about shrieked. She ran towards her friend's bedside, her flight boots pulling her to a squeaky halt. There were tears in her eyes. "You're okay!"

Kit laughed, reaching up and hugging her tightly. There were hugs and handshakes and laughter all around, and everyone excitedly jabbered on about how happy they were to see him in one piece. Mila stood back, watching as their infectious joy filled the room with a huge grin on her face.

Moments like this, she told herself, were why she spent her life doing what she did.

The refresher door slid open, and Poe stepped out, a broad grin encompassing his face when he saw the rest of Rapier standing in front of him. He took a step forward, but elected to lean up against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, watching them carry on for a while. Mila glanced at him, and he smiled at her and winked.

BB-8 suddenly squealed, rolling over towards the bed and nearly knocking Iolo over. Everyone laughed.

"Hey, buddy!" Kit smiled, reaching down and touching the droid's dome. "I'm holding up okay. What about you?"

BB-8 chirped, his little body pitching with unbridled excitement as he talked on.

"Well, that's good," Kit grinned. "Think Poe'd have a heart attack if you weren't!"

The droid rolled over to where Mila was standing and nudged her leg, beeping and chirping and bobbing back and forth. Six pairs of eyes landed on her, and she met them with a modest smile. Karé stood from where she had been kneeling and walked over to her, grinning and giving her a hug.

"Thank you," she said, nodding back tears. By the way her voice shook, Mila knew her words weren't hollow. "I don't think I can say that enough. None of us can."

Mila grinned and nodded. "Any time."

The two women came back to Kit's bedside. Karé sat down next to him and grinned down at Iolo, who happily sat in the floor in front of her.

"Does Poe know he's awake?" Iolo asked, raising his oddly colored eyes to Mila.

Mila opened her mouth to talk, but Kit excitedly cut her off.

"Saw him last night, Iolo, right after I woke up. The lieutenant and I'd been looking at the stars, and he came over. We flew right past Yavin. Got to talk to Mila some, too. Found out the she's from Hosnian!"

"Oh, you are?" Iolo and Karé said at roughly the same time.

Mila smiled and nodded.

Kit grinned mischievously. "And the Aleena Tavik incident may or may not have almost gotten out. Almost."

Karé snorted and doubled over with laughter, Kit patting her back and snickering. From where he was standing, Poe sighed and rolled his eyes.

"He _better_ be glad we weren't awake, huh Iolo?" Karé giggled, holding her sides.

Iolo smothered a laugh with a pale, long-fingered hand, nodding as he squeezed his eyes shut. The whole squadron was cracking up. Mila shook her head, smiling.

"That's not going away any time soon, is it?" Poe chuckled from where he was standing.

"Look who crawled out of the mynock hole!" Karé exclaimed, her face lighting up even more that it already had as her commanding officer made his way over towards them.

The rest of the squadron enthusiastically greeted him. He laughed softly.

"You holding up okay, Commander?" Kit asked.

Poe nodded. "Never mind me," he smiled. "How about you?"

Kit grinned. "Rapier Five, still standing by."

Poe laughed, shaking his head. A few of the other Rapiers softly cheered. Karé affectionately rubbed his shoulder.

"We'll be back on base in another fifteen minutes or so," Mila said, resting her hand on her patient's slim shoulder. "We'll get you to the med center and get an eval done and go from there." She smiled. "But I think you're gonna be just fine, Kit. You've put up a hard fight."

"That you have," Karé heartily agreed.

Kit grinned. "Having a good doctor doesn't hurt, either."

"Yeah, but had you given up in that hallway, I wouldn't have been much help, now would I?"

"Nah. Not really." He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back, a rascally smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But you've got a nice face, so you made it pretty easy."

Everyone laughed.

The squadron talked and carried on, cracking jokes and rebounding from them with the tightness of a family. Mila found herself grinning ear-to-ear, content to see them as happy as they were after everything that had happened. She felt Poe's warm hand slide up her back and rest on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and she couldn't help but smile at him. His deep eyes met her gaze, and her ability to breathe momentarily vanished.

That reaction, she found, was becoming more frequent, but she wasn't sure why.

At least, that's what she tried to tell herself.

A soft alarm buzzed in their ears, and everyone fell silent. A few of the Rapiers started packing up. The floor vibrated as the cruiser's landing gear was deployed, and the soft roar of the engines soon died out. Rubbing Mila's shoulder and stepping back, Poe went back to his corner, quickly folding up his cot and carrying on a little conversation with his astromech droid.

Mila moved to the head of Kit's bed. "You ready to get out of here?" she asked, smiling.

"Hell yes," he sighed, grinning.

Mila laughed. "Let's go, then," she said, flipping a few of the controls in front of her. The bed floated across the floor, Kit pumping a fist into the air as he passed through the threshold and into the hallway. Rapier filed in around him.

They made their way through the cruiser, finally coming up on the gangplank. Warm sunlight poured onto the flight line below them, peaking through the clouds that hung in the sky. Mila smiled as her feet stepped off the durasteel and onto the permacrete, Hosnian's cool morning breeze streaming up her nose.

Poe had fallen into step next to her, BB-8 rolling along beside him. Every inch of his countenance fairly screamed with relief.

After almost two days, the worst of it was finally, _finally_ over.

"Welcome home, Lieutenant," he said, grinning down at Kit. He gently rubbed Mila's back. "Both of you."


	5. Liars

_Chapter 5: Liars_

Poe stepped through a set of blast doors, raking his hand through his dark hair and sighing. Reporting to Republic Command had never – and would never – crack his list of favorite pastimes.

He was convinced he could park his fighter in the conference room and point to the burn marks on its hull, the dent in the repulsors – he could even rip the console from the cockpit and cue up the detailed list the fighter kept of everything it engaged – and they'd still blame the attack on space debris or something infinitely moronic like that. Blame the deaths of two Rapiers and the near death of a third on a "freak accident." Or "the nature of the patrol."

In this case, "nature of the patrol" was the premade option they had gone with.

That, as far as Poe was concerned, was inexcusable. But there was nothing he could do against them, not unless he wanted to lose his command and flush the careers of every last one of his pilots.

As he exited, everyone's heads shot up.

"What'd they say?" Karé gushed. "What're they gonna do?"

Poe shook his head, frowning. "They've 'examined the compiled evidence' and are sending an intelligence team to Dantooine so they can 'assess the extent of the damage.'"

"So nothing, then?"

"Hit the nail on the head, Lieutenant."

Karé scoffed, throwing her hands into the air. Iolo's shoulders sagged. Muran groaned. Six and Eleven both deflated.

"I don't know what they hell they're thinking," Poe sighed, sitting down between Karé and Iolo. "But it's what they're going with."

"And you thought they'd ever do anything different?" Iolo sighed.

"I had hoped." Poe rubbed his temple. "Don't know why I did." He sighed. "I was sure that gun would have raised a few questions. It didn't." He put his elbows on his knees, lowering his head into his hands. "I hate that. For Kit. For Reaves and Ordona. It's like their lives mean nothing."

Karé rubbed her friend's back, giving his shoulder a pat.

"I know," she said.

They all sat there in silence for a minute, everyone fighting to process what had just happened. There were few things that could make a Rapier feel helpless, but this was definitely one of them. Everyone was so shocked – so frustrated – that the ability to talk was all but struck from them.

Finally Iolo broke the silence.

"I ran by and saw Kit before we came over here," he said, trying to lighten the mood a little. "Lieutenant Criss was about to give him a second round in the bacta tank. Apparently they've got better quality stuff planetside than they do on the cruisers." He smiled. "But Kit perked up a good bit when I saw him. He already looks a lot better. Said his stomach was still giving him some trouble, but it wasn't quite as mad at him as it was a few nights ago." He looked at his commanding officer, who still held his head in his hands, and gripped his shoulder. "And Mila wanted me to tell you hello for her."

A bright grin suddenly burst across Poe's face. Karé and Iolo looked at each other from over his back, their faces lighting up.

"I _told_ you," Karé silently mouthed, her eyes shining as a grin tried to break across her face.

Iolo's eyes darted back and forth between Karé and Poe, who was sitting up.

The two Rapiers smiled at each other, Karé nodding and Iolo gaping like he had just had an epiphany.

"What're you two grinning about?" Poe asked, the starts of an unsure smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Nothing," Karé said, forcing the corners of her lips down, almost as if her face was shrugging. "Just happy that Kit's okay."

Poe scoffed, his dark eyes smiling. "You're a horrible liar."

"Not as bad as you are, Mr. I'm-Not-Interested."

Iolo fought not to laugh.

Poe's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh," Karé exclaimed sarcastically. "So now you're not only lying, but also playing stupid to cover up the fact that you're lying?"

Poe gave her a look.

"Kit told me," Karé went on triumphantly, a mischievous grin splitting her face. "I asked him what brought up the Aleena Tavik incident, and he told me."

Poe sighed, an exasperated grin stretching across his face. "I told him I wasn't interested. Have I ever lied to any of you?"

"Not well," Iolo snickered.

A loud chuckle escaped Karé's lips before she suddenly bit it back.

Poe sighed. "You're getting a kick out of this, aren't you?"

Karé nodded, stifling laughter. "Little bit, yeah."

"I swear, Karé, I was telling the truth!"

"Ooh, getting defensive, are we?"

"I was!"

"Oh, really? Then why's your face turning red?"

"It's not red."

"Yes it is! Looks like one of my quad engines!"

The whole squadron burst out laughing. Iolo clapped Poe on the back.

Karé stood, a smile still jutting across her face. "Well, I'm about to eat the doorframe, so I think I'm gonna go get some lunch, check over my fighter, and then go check on Kit. Anybody game?"

"Sure," Muran said.

"Sounds good to me," Iolo agreed.

The squadron pulled out, moving in one big group and talking back and forth.

"Oh," Karé piped up. "And somebody make sure to grab the commander's life support vest before we head over to the med center. He's probably gonna need it."

Poe groaned.

* * *

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about him. It frustrated her – kept her from her work – but mostly, it scared her.

She couldn't bring herself to deal with the question of _why._ The answer made her heart flutter and drop to her toes all at the same time.

Every fifteen minutes or so, she would hear the unmistakable high shriek of an X-wing's engines soar over the medcenter, and every time one did, she grinned. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep a straight face.

"You hear that?" Kit said softly, exhaustion weighing his features down. "They're running drills. Sounds like cadet work." He closed his eyes. "I hear an X-wing, two A-wings and a Y-wing." He grinned as another fighter flew over. "But that—" he motioned to the ceiling as if he could see the fighter "—was Poe."

Mila's brow furrowed, and she smiled at her patient as she sat down on the side of his bed. "How'd you know?"

"Quad engines sound just a little bit deeper than the rest. You get to know the sounds of your squad members' fighters. Poe's is deep and steady; Karé's kinda shouts at you; Iolo's is real smooth and even. You spend enough time around us, and you'll be able to hear the differences, too."

Mila smiled softly. "What did your fighter sound like?"

Kit grinned. "I only really heard the engines from the outside a few times. It… it just kinda sang. Even, kinda like Iolo's, but loud as hell, like Karé's. Soon I'll have a new one to describe for you. I'll be sure to come back and tell you about it—" his brown eyes twinkled "— _unless_ Commander Dameron beats me to the chase."

Mila softly smiled at her toes.

"He came to see me earlier today, not but five minutes after you went for break."

"You tell him your news?"

Kit grinned. "Not yet. I wanna tell them all at once."

Mila smiled. "They'll be happy to have you back."

Kit beamed. "I can't wait to tell them, Mila. They're gonna freak." He shook his head, chuckling just a little bit. "Karé might cry, and she doesn't cry. Ever." He sighed. "Never seen her cry, but I've heard it. Over the comm, when my fighter was going down. That may've been the worst part of the whole thing. Yeah, dropping out of the sky wasn't fun, but…" He shook his head. "That kind of thing can haunt a man for the rest of his life."

Mila nodded, suddenly solemn.

"But now she doesn't have to worry. None of them do. Neither does my family. Poe said they all just about fainted when he commed them and told them. So did my girlfriend. But I get to see them tomorrow and tell them I'm gonna be just fine. And I can't kriffing wait, Mila."

Mila grinned at him, gently putting a hand on his slim shoulder.

"He asked after you, too," Kit went on, suppressing a knowing grin. "Poe did, when I saw him this afternoon. Just wanted to know how you were. And he says hi back."

Mila grinned, and Kit couldn't help but notice how her whole composure softened at the commander's name.

The same way – he suddenly realized – that Poe's had at hers.

"Look out that window, and you might be able to see the flight line." The young pilot sat up a little bit. "See him maneuver a little bit. It's pretty awesome to watch."

Mila looked at him, and he nodded.

"Go ahead," he said. "I can't get over there, so you'll have to tell me what he's doing."

"I can try," Mila replied, standing and moving across the room. She stood by the window, her breath catching in her throat at the sunset that rose in front of them, and watched for a second.

"You know which one's his, Mila?"

Mila nodded, smiling a little bit. "The black one."

The engines roared overhead, and Poe's X-Wing shot into view. Mila grinned.

"I see him," she said.

"Watch for a second."

Mila's small frame leaned against the side of the window, her arms tucking in across her chest. The fighter's silhouette darkened the clouds – which nearly matched its quad engines in color – as it effortlessly cut through the air. Her mouth fell open a little bit, the starts of a wistful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

He made it look so easy. So freeing.

Part of her wondered what went through his head when he climbed into the cockpit. She could just see his face – it would be grinning – as the canopy came down around him and the fighter assertively rose from the permacrete. A huge grin suddenly split her face.

The idea of him being that happy – that unrestricted – made her heart swell a little. Though, at the moment, she had trouble admitting why.

The X-wing suddenly rose out of view, and Mila waited for a second, hoping it would return. She looked over her shoulder to say something to Kit, who was watching his commanding officer fly from where he was, when the young pilot suddenly burst out laughing.

"What?" Mila asked, her brow knitting in puzzlement.

"He's inverted!" He nodded towards the window. "Look!"

She turned back towards the window just in time to see the fighter shoot past, completely upside-down.

"Nerfherder," Kit snickered. "It's like he knows you're watching or something."

Mila grinned. "What's that got to do with anything?" she asked, chuckling a little bit.

"Oh," Kit shrugged. "Nothing. Must've just timed well." He grinned and hastily tacked on, "What do you think of him?"

Mila was slightly taken aback. "Of who? Poe?"

"Yeah."

Mila stopped and thought for a second. "He's an incredible pilot," she said slowly. "That goes without saying. And he takes good care of his squadron."

Kit nodded. "Anything else?" he added, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

Mila shrugged. "Not that I can think of. He's… I don't know. He's a good man. I like him." She nodded, pursing her lips and trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. "I like him a lot."

Kit's eyes shone a little, and Mila swore there was a little bit of mischief behind them. "You do?"

"Yeah. I do."

"'Cause, just to let you know, Mila, he's pretty fond of you, too."

Mila laughed a little. "I've got you to thank for that, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, well—" he folded his hands behind his head "—you two have me to thank for a _lot_ of things." He flashed her a rascally grin, and the lieutenant couldn't help but chuckle. "But not this one," he went on, his features softening a little. "You did that all by yourself. You're not afraid to do what you need to do, and he appreciates that." He paused. "In other words, he likes that you're insane."

Mila laughed out loud.

"What? He's a pilot. It's part of his job description. And if someone's just as crazy as he is, he kinda gravitates towards them. Just how he's wired."

Mila nodded a little bit, fighting to keep the smile that wanted to burst across her face contained.

Kit's comm suddenly beeped, and he reached to the small table next to him and answered.

"Anderon, here."

"Hey, baby face," Karé laughed.

Kit groaned. "You ever gonna stop calling me that, Lieutenant?"

Karé stopped and thought for a second, humming for added effect. "Nah."

Kit chuckled exasperatedly. "So, what's up?"

"You close to a window?"

"Yeah. We can see you flying. Tell Dameron that that was a snazzy inversion."

Karé snickered. "Kriffing showoff."

Kit laughed out loud.

"But yeah," Karé went on. "Want you to watch for a sec." She paused. "Go ahead, Iolo!" she shouted.

Quad engines revved behind her.

Kit smiled a little bit. "What are you guys up to?"

"Just keep watching."

The young pilot sat up a little bit, craning his neck to get a better view. Another fighter roared overhead, flying straight towards the horizon before rocketing straight up and barrel-rolling.

"Whaddya think?" Karé asked. "Can you see her?"

"Yep. Looks like she moves well."

"She does. You barely have to touch anything and she turns. Handles like a dream."

"You fly her?"

"Yeah, I did. Muran did, too. So did Poe. Iolo's taking her to try out those cannons."

"Is she new?"

"Right off the assembly line. Hull's practically still hot."

Kit nodded. "And they wanted you to test her out?"

Kit could practically hear the smile burst across her face. "No, _you_ wanted us to test her out."

Kit froze, his brow knitting. "Wait. What?"

"She's yours, Anderon. She's waiting for you."

Kit beamed. "You're _serious_?"

"Yeah!"

"Really?"

"Do I sound like I'm lying?"

He laughed. "This your idea?"

"Nah," Karé replied. "You get to blame your CO for this one, bud."

Mila smiled before she could stop herself.

"Tell him thank you for me," Kit smiled. He sighed, trying to make himself sound as rueful as possible. "But you don't even know if I'm gonna make it yet."

He gave Mila a knowing look. Mila's grin widened.

"Well, consider this your incentive!" Karé laughed, though a little bit of emotion thickened her voice. "Die on me, nerfherder, and I am _not_ gonna be happy!"

Kit laughed out loud. "You guys coming to see me tonight?"

"Of course we are! Why wouldn't we?"

Kit grinned.

"We're heading your way, right after we're done here. Come bother you for a little bit. How's that sound?"

"Pretty damn good, actually. I miss you guys."

"Miss you too, bud. See you in a half an hour or so."

Engines screamed behind her.

"Iolo's landing, so I gotta scoot. Make sure he doesn't ding up your new baby."

Kit laughed. "Hurry every chance you get."

"See ya."

* * *

Karé heard landing gear deploy as soon as she replaced her comm on her belt. The canopy popped open as she rolled a ladder next to the fighter, and Iolo climbed down. He took off his helmet and shook his hair free, a grin splitting his face. Techs ran past him to cool the fighter down and get it situated for the night.

"How was she?" Karé called.

Iolo shook his head, laughing. "She's got quite the temper!" he shouted back, his face flushed and his hands shaking a little from adrenaline. "Dead shot. Absolutely vaped everything she aimed at." He clapped the hull. "Fighter like this is hard to come by. Kit'll have a blast with her."

Iolo's astromech whistled in agreement. He chuckled.

"We got a keeper?" Poe called, jogging up beside Iolo. BB-8 rolled in behind him.

"Hell yes," Iolo grinned. "Hands down." He nodded down the flight line. "Yours fly alright?"

Poe nodded. "As surely as ever. You?"

"Had a few issues with the pitch, but it wasn't hard to fix. Everything else's working just fine."

"Good."

"So we can head in now?" Karé cut in, backing up towards the blast doors on the other side of the permacrete.

"Yep."

Karé grinned and whipped around, taking off running. Poe and Iolo exchanged glances.

"If either one of you nerfherders thought I was waiting for you, I'm not!" she called over her shoulder.

"Hold on, baby!" Poe shouted, raising his voice to match Karé's in pitch. "Mama's coming!"

"At least Mama's not gonna need life support in there, lover boy!"

"Ohhh!" Iolo guffawed.

Poe groaned, his voice shaking with suppressed laughter. "Damn it, Karé!"

"Come on! You walked right into that one!"

Poe rolled his eyes, and exasperated smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he silently laughed.

"You really did," Iolo snickered.

The commander shook his head, chuckling. "Come on," he said, clapping his friend on the back. "We can't let her get too far ahead, can we?"

They took a few steps, exchanged glances, and sprinted across the permacrete.

* * *

He didn't want to admit it – not even to himself – but he was very, _very_ tired.

Mila had told him that he would likely feel a little worse for a few days after a bacta treatment because of the sense of bliss the liquid gave. And he hadn't believed her. Stupid.

Kit shrugged. At least that stuff really _did_ taste a little like shuura fruit.

His eyes flickered a little, and his head drooped forward onto his chest. His brown eyes snapped open; his head jerked back up, only to have exhaustion pull them back down again.

He had just closed his eyes when the door hissed open. He jumped.

No one stood in the threshold. His brow furrowed a little bit, and he watched for a second.

Karé's head abruptly jerked into view as she craned her neck around the doorframe, staring Kit down with a goofy look on her face until they both burst out laughing.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, grinning as she shuffled into the room and gave him a hug.

"Been out on the line for too long," Iolo chuckled, coming in behind Karé with Poe and Muran by his side. "How're you feeling?"

Kit sighed. "A little tired, but that's really it. Got one more test before I go to sleep. Mila went to get the major. Said she had to get her CO in here to clear everything before we go any further. You just missed her."

Karé elbowed Poe in the side, grinning mischievously. "Looks like you won't be needing that life support after all, Commander."

Kit covered his face with both of his hands and laughed until it hurt, which in turn cracked the rest of the squadron up. "Kriff," he gasped. "It's _that_ bad?"

Karé just nodded and grinned slyly.

Poe scoffed, shaking his head. "Keep telling yourself that, Lieutenant."

"Denial," Kit teased. "The first stage of acceptance."

Poe groaned good-naturedly. "So you're in on this too, aren't you?"

Kit only laughed harder. He put a hand over his side, wincing just a little bit as he caught his breath. A smile still brightened his face.

"But if it is true," he said between deep breaths. "It's a good thing. Makes me happy."

Poe's face softened, and he nodded.

The doors hissed open again, and Mila came through with Major Krell on her heels.

"Alright, Kit," she said, looking down at her feet. "Get you checked out real quick, and you can hit the sack if you want to."

She looked up and smiled when she saw the rest of the squadron.

"You all holding up alright?"

Everyone nodded.

"Good." She made her way over towards Kit's bedside. "This won't take but ten minutes," she said.

She caught Poe's gaze for a moment, and a bright smile flashed across her face. Poe grinned.

"Major," Kit acknowledged.

Krell's hard face softened a little bit. "How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"

"Better."

"You look much better than the last time we saw each other. Color's back in your face." She dug in one of her pockets and produced a small device. "Let's have a look at your stomach."

The pilot shifted so the major could sit down next to him. He pulled up the side of his shirt, revealing the scar from the shrapnel. Karé winced a little at the sight of it.

Krell tapped a few controls on top of the instrument and placed it against the pilot's skin, watching the holograph of the moving organ intently. Mila jotted down notes with a datapad, a smile slowly stretching across her face as she did.

"Looks good," she reported. "Looks _really_ good."

Krell picked up the device and nodded. "That it does."

Kit grinned at Mila knowingly, then looked at the rest of his squad. "Heard you all found me a fighter," he said.

"We did," Poe smiled. "You get to see her fly?"

"A little. Thing maneuvers really well." The smile on his face broadened. "Give it another three weeks, and I'll be able to test her out for myself."

Karé's jaw dropped. "What?"

Kit chuckled a little. "I'm gonna be just fine," he said, beaming. "Three more weeks, and I'll be back on the flight line with you guys."

His last few words were drowned out by the excited reaction of his squad. Karé threw her arms around Kit's neck, laughing from sheer relief as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Chuckling himself, Kit held her for a second, rubbing her back and grinning.

Mila looked on, beaming.

"I'm gonna be just fine," Kit echoed in Karé's ear. "Just fine. I'll be back to terrorizing you all soon enough."

Muran and Iolo both laughed. Poe grinned so wide it hurt.

"How long did you say?" Karé asked, pulling back. "Three weeks?"

Kit nodded. "Not too bad, huh?"

Poe shook his head, smiling. "You lucky son of a gun," he chuckled, gripping his friend's shoulder. "It'll be damn good to have you back. We've missed you."

Kit smiled. "I can't wait." He sighed. "Heard something about you guys having to go to Republic Command. How'd that one go?"

Poe's jaw tightened.

Karé frowned. "How do you think?"

"Same as always," Iolo sighed.

Kit's face fell. "What did they say?"

Poe came around the foot of the bed and sat down next to him. "They're dispatching an intelligence team to Dantooine to take a look."

"And?"

"That's it. That's all they're gonna do. Direct attack on Republic soil and that's all they do."

Mila felt Krell stiffen next to her.

 _Please don't say anything_ , she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and blowing out a breath. _That's the last thing they need right now_.

Kit sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know if that frustrates me or makes me sad." He stared at his toes. "I think it's both."

Poe shook his head. "I wish we could've done more, buddy. I really, really do."

"Ordona and Reaves," Kit said slowly, his voice trailing off grievingly.

"I know," Poe said ruefully, his shoulders sagging. "I've half a mind to fly out there, track down the culprit, and torpedo the kriff out of them myself."

"I don't get why they won't just admit it," Karé murmured. "We all know who did it. That gun spoke for itself. And how are they going to explain that med cruiser? A damn asteroid?" Her jaw tightened, and she turned to Iolo, her voice low. "And didn't you say you thought you saw a Star Destroyer sitting off in the distance when you came out of the atmosphere—"

"So you're blaming something the Senate confirmed as an accident on the First Order?" Krell articulated, her voice cold. "Without proof?"

Mila cringed. Karé's dark eyes flashed.

"The Republic is doing everything they can, Lieutenant. That should be enough."

"My scanners beg to differ," Poe muttered, his dark eyes locking with Krell's icy ones. "So does the gun that shot down this pilot. I got close enough to it before I vaped it to tell—"

"What you thought you saw and what actually happened, Commander, are two very different things."

Poe silently fumed. Mila froze, desperately trying to figure out what to do and coming up at a complete, sickening loss.

"You weren't on the ground, Major," Karé went on, fighting to keep her emotions in check. "Or even in the atmosphere. You didn't see what we saw."

"In case you've forgotten, _Lieutenant_ ," Krell snapped. "Eye witness accounts are just about worthless to Command. What you saw means nothing, unless you can find hard evidence to support it. What Intelligence finds when they get there will determine what truly happened. If warmongers like you could begin to understand that—"

"Don't," Mila said shortly. "Please. Not now."

Poe squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to stay calm. "I've lost almost half my squad to these people, Major, whoever you may think they are. But unlike you, I've been on patrol for years. Pirates can _not_ run down a highly-trained fighter pilot like that. More than once. They're just not that accurate."

"Then perhaps they've become so."

"Not unless they've been taking hints from First Order TIEs." 

Krell scoffed, looking at Mila. "And here I thought you were the only one to believe that nonsense." She turned back to Poe. "If you're suggesting the Republic has been lying to you – to all of us – then you are _gravely_ mistaken. Perhaps you place too much faith in the ability of your pilots, Commander. That might explain it."

Poe's eyes opened and rolled up to meet Krell's, staring her down with the same concentrated fire that he held in a dogfight while chasing down a target. His gaze was so intense that the major backed up towards the door, unable to stand under the weight of it, and tapped the controls.

"Do whatever you want to me, Major," he said, his voice low and heated. "You're allowed to go after me. I could care less if you do. But tear into my squadron, and you'd _better_ be prepared to regret it."

Muran blew out a deep breath. Karé wrapped her arms around Kit, refusing to move. Iolo put a hand on her shoulder.

Krell's brow knotted. "I wonder," she said, her voice turning to ice. "What would Lieutenant Bey say if she could see what little faith her own son has placed in the democracy she fought so hard to restore?"

Everyone in the room tensed, almost like a charge had been mounted on the wall and set. An idea suddenly popped into Mila's head, and she briskly moved across the room as the major smugly finished her sentence.

"Commander?" she asked innocently, putting herself in between Poe and Krell. "You wanna go for a walk? Go get some fresh air?"

Poe stared at her, his gaze confused and a little blank.

"Right now?" Her hazel eyes flicked towards the door, hinting at an escape route.

"You know what?" Kit suddenly replied. "I think he'd love to. And you said you'd been meaning to show him around, anyway."

Medic and ace looked back at the young pilot with a mixture of alleviation and uncertainty.

"Go on," he coaxed. "I got this. Go blow off some steam."

Poe temporarily smothered his anger with a relieved, grateful smile.

Kit nodded towards the door. "I think I'm gonna go to sleep now, Major," he said, his voice impressively calm. "I'll see you in the morning."

Krell turned sharply on her heel, wordlessly exiting.

Mila nodded towards the door. "Come on," she said softly, smiling up at Poe and putting a small hand on his shoulder. "Let's go."

She led him through the threshold, out into the winding white hallways of the medcenter, out another door and up a flight of stairs. A set of blast doors hissed open in front of them, and she took him outside, to a balcony with a full view of the flight line. Quickly she turned around.

"Now you know why I hate that woman, Poe," she said hurriedly. " _Please_ tell me you're alri—"

He cut her off by pulling her into his arms, resting his face in the crook of her neck and refusing to let her go.


	6. Doors Open

_Chapter 6: Doors Open_

As soon as he pulled her to him, Mila melted into Poe's arms, resting her head on his shoulder and gently rubbing his back, working out the tension that locked his muscles. She closed her eyes. Every aggravated thought she'd been harboring – Krell, the First Order, Republic Command, all of it – temporarily faded from her memory, chased away by the steady rise and fall of his chest. By the gentle strength with which he held her.

A soft smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. It had been a long time since she had felt that safe, that well looked-after. Nestled in the warmth of his embrace – even if it was a bit troubled – Mila felt as if nothing could touch her. A strange ardor stirred within her, sending her into a blissful trance as it softly knocked on the door of her heart.

And yet, she stubbornly kept it closed.

She didn't know why she did. Everything in her wanted to throw it wide open – to let this strange new sensation in with jaunty abandon – but she was just too scared to. Too timid. Too shy. She'd been badly hurt in the past, and it had been years since she'd felt anything like this... and it certainly had never been this strong.

But was she really willing to risk herself again?

Finding feelings was one thing. Coming to terms with them was another.

Poe sighed loudly, pulling back slightly and resting his hands on her small shoulders. He smiled a little bit, his brown eyes exhausted.

"Today's been a day," he said, chuckling dryly.

Mila sighed. "That it has been."

"You sure you're alright?"

Mila nodded. "I was more worried about you."

Poe grinned at her. "I'll be fine," he reassured, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. He looked over her shoulder at the flight line, which seemed to sprawl from one horizon to the next.

"How did you find this place?" he asked, moving past her and leaning on the walkway's railing. "Never been up here before."

Mila came up next to him, a cool breeze caressing her hair. "My brother had come to see me one day, and we stumbled across it. I come up here to watch him fly sometimes. Or if I'm trying to get away from Krell."

Poe nodding knowingly. "I'll bet."

"Yeah. She's… she's fun."

"Real fun," he agreed. "I mean, Deso can push my buttons sometimes, but…" He stopped for a second, blowing out a quick breath. "That woman desperately needs a hobby."

Mila laughed out loud. Poe couldn't help but join in at the sound of it.

"Yeah," Mila sighed, shaking her head. The wind picked up, and she shivered a little.

"You alright?"

Mila nodded. "Just cold," she replied.

"Here," Poe shuffled behind her for a second. The next he was draping his flight jacket over her shoulders.

"You're sure?" Mila looked up at him, a little taken aback by his kindness.

Poe grinned. "Spent enough time in space that I just don't get cold anymore. Not easily."

A gentle smile pulled at the corners or Mila's mouth. "Thank you," she whispered.

She slipped her arms through the sleeves, the tips of her fingers stopping a few inches from the cuffs. Softly chuckling, she raised her hands and flopped the extra leather around in front of her, a bright smile flashing across her face when Poe burst out laughing. Mila decided she liked the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he did. It faded to a soft, gentle smile as his laughter died out. She found him mellifluously searching her eyes, as if he were trying to count the individual flecks of green in their irises. Her lips parting a little, she returned his gaze, silently basking in its warmth.

Any and all words were completely dashed from Mila's mouth. Hesitantly her heart's door cracked open, and she poked her head out, looking that strange, scary new feeling right in its gentle eyes as she wrestled with whether or not to let it in. It sang to her, its sweet, stalwart melody lightly whispering in her ears, slowly but surely melting the fear that had rusted the door hinges.

The longer the quiet – which was oddly comfortable – lasted, the deeper his eyes seemed to get. She became completely lost in them.

"What?" he whispered, the wisps of a smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

The feeling gently whispered to Mila again and, though terrified, her heart decided it would hear it out.

"Nothing," she softly replied, unable to lower her gaze.

Poe dropped his eyes, and his smile broadened.

 _He does have a beautiful smile_ , a voice hesitantly whispered to her. More readily that she wanted to, Mila found herself agreeing with it.

"So," he said. "You said your brother's a pilot?"

Mila grinned at him. "That he is."

"What squadron?"

"None just yet. He's still a cadet, but not for much longer. He's about to graduate." She shook her head, smiling. "Makes me feel old."

Poe chuckled. "What's he thinking about flying?"

"A-wing," Mila replied. "He likes how they handle."

Poe smiled, a little nostalgia dancing in his eyes. "First ship I ever flew was an A-wing."

"Really?"

"Yep. That's what Mom flew. Almost took one up myself, but the first time in the cockpit of an X-wing changed my mind a little too quick."

Mila laughed a little bit, her eyes sparkling.

"You have any other siblings?"

"Two other brothers, though they're both older than Calo and I are. Damien's a mechanic, and Jaren's a Pathfinder."

"My dad was a Pathfinder before he retired." Poe's face shone with admiration as he spoke. "He's back on Yavin VI now, living the good life." He smiled. "After everything he's sacrificed, he deserves it."

Mila laid a hand on his arm. "He's gotta be so proud, Poe. Your mom, too."

Poe smiled at her, and it spoke more to Mila than words ever could have.

"What about your folks? What do they do?"

Mila grimaced a little. "Senatorial aids.  _Both_  of them."

"Oh, fun."

"Yeah," Mila sighed. "Conversations get a little interesting, to say the least. We don't see eye to eye on just about everything." She smiled a little. "But I still love them, and they, me. I wouldn't trade them for the world."

Poe smiled at her. He looked out in front of him, and his breath caught in his throat. "Man, you can really see everything up here, can't you?" His long fingers gripped the railing a little harder as he leaned forward, his face lighting up with an almost childlike excitement. He smiled brightly. "You can see the whole fleet!"

Mila chuckled a little. "I wondered how long it would take you to figure that out."

"Your brother ever show you where everything is down there?"

Yes. He had. Calo had pointed out on multiple occasions. Though for whatever reason, Mila found her head shaking a silent no.

A grin flashed across Poe's face. "Down there, off in the distance, where the permacrete drops off. Looks like a big rectangular pit." He pointed. "See it?"

Mila nodded.

"That's where they keep the destroyers. The big Corellian cruisers. General Antilles' flagship is down there somewhere, too, but I'm not sure exactly where. Come up a little further towards us, and that's where troop transports hang out when they haven't been loaded up yet. And all of that—" he motioned out towards the endless rows of slowly blinking lights "—is where the fighters are."

Mila nodded. "Where's yours?" she asked, softly smiling up at him.

"See where the lights turn from white to red?" he said, indicating to where he was speaking with his index finger. "That's where my fighter is. Karé's is to the right of mine; Iolo's to the right of hers. Then Muran, then Kit. Then…." He sighed. "It starts looking a little sparse."

Mila's small hand found Poe's as it gripped the railing, her fingers hesitantly brushing up against his. Gently, he took it in his own, tenderly running his thumb across the tops of her knuckles.

"How many people were on that cruiser?" Poe asked, his voice soft and solemn.

"I was never told," Mila replied. "Though I'd guess a few thousand at the least."

"All medical personnel?"

Mila nodded. "And a good chunk of my platoon."

Poe hummed empathetically. "How many?"

"Ten. Out of twenty-five."

Poe shook his head. "Ten too many."

Mila sighed, looking up at him. "It's never easy, Poe. Losing a man. You know that. It hurts like hell." Her shoulders sagged. "But I don't know what's worse: the loss itself—"

"—or feeling like you can't do anything about it," they finished at the same time.

"Or when no one will  _let_  you do anything about it," Poe added, aggravation tingeing his voice.

Mila nodded, silently agreeing with him. They stared out at the flight line, both content to watch the little bit of movement from the techs running the last checks and tests for the night.

"It's twelve fighters to a squadron, right?" Mila suddenly asked.

Poe nodded. "Rapier's down to seven, including me." He looked at her softly, giving her hand a squeeze. "Would've been six had it not been for you."

Mila grinned at him. "I'd just pulled a patient from the field when you all flew in," she said softly. "I wish you could have seen his face, Poe. You showed up, and… man. I don't know how to describe it. The hope in his eyes. The gratitude. It… was like you could pinpoint the second when he realized he would be coming out." Her hazel eyes searched his deep brown ones for a moment before resting her head on his shoulder. "When he realized he was finally,  _finally_  safe from it all."

Poe wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as his fingers gently combed through her hair.

"I know the feeling," he said, resting the side of his face on the top of her head.

Mila sank into his embrace, closing her eyes and simply breathing. She smiled contentedly.

Her door had opened.

And that feeling – that strange, warm sensation that she, at the moment, had trouble giving a name to – finally eased in, beaming at her as it stepped through the threshold. She knew it would take a little time for it to fully establish itself – for her to get comfortable with it being there – but, to her surprise, she found she didn't mind. She was too excited to. Too frightened to. Too…

The more she thought about it, the more she realized she couldn't describe it. She pulled Poe a little closer, listened to the steadiness of his heartbeat, and just held him.

Mila tried to memorize him. How his arms seemed to fit around her small body like long-lost puzzle pieces. How gently his fingers massaged her scalp. The warmth of his body next to hers. How he smelled, though she couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was he smelled  _like._  The way his eyes sparkled when he laughed; how his entire face lit up when he told her about his adventures. She soaked it all in, cramming in every last detail, selfishly storing them away for later.

Hesitantly Poe pulled back, resting his hands on Mila's hips and smiling softly down at her. "C'mon," he whispered, quickly running his thumb along her jaw. "We should probably head inside. Everybody's probably wondering where we got off to."

Mila softly smiled, falling into step beside him. Exhaustion suddenly hit them both like a sledgehammer.

"Nice little hiding place," Poe said, his voice deep and tired. He grinned. "I'll know where to look for you now."

Mila chuckled. She led him back down the stairs and stopped at the blast doors, gently sliding her arms out of his flight jacket.

"I believe this belongs to you," she said softly, holding it out to him.

A little bit of a smile etched across Poe's face as he took it and hoisted it over his shoulders again. "Thanks," he replied. His smile widened.

 _It smells like her_.

Mila shrugged a little bit, her eyes dropping to her feet. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Poe nodded. "You will."

Mila's eyes rose to his. "Go get some rest. You need it." She smiled.

"I'll see you in the morning," Poe whispered. He softly kissed her forehead. "Good night." His arm dropped from her side, and he took a step back.

"Good night," Mila beamed at him. He smiled back at her and disappeared around the corner. A split second passed, and he turned back around.

"I can walk you back to your quarters, if you want."

Mila grinned. "Sure."

She walked up beside him, and he took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and softly smiling down at her as she led him down the corridor.

* * *

No one was sure how much time had passed since Krell left, and no one had said a word. Iolo had found a chair and was almost asleep in the corner. Muran leaned up against the wall. Karé sat on Kit's bedside, numbly staring off into space.

"Damn," Kit finally muttered.

Silence.

"Is everybody okay?" Kit asked.

"Give me a minute, bud," Karé sighed, sitting up and running her hand through her long blonde hair. "I just…." She groaned frustratedly, turning around towards Kit. "You know what? Yeah. Damn is right."

Iolo managed a dry chuckle. Muran nodded.

"Just tell us how you really feel, Major," Karé growled at the closed door. "Thought I'd at least get a thank you for swooping in and saving your regiment's ass before—" She stopped herself. "And what about you, Kit? Or Reaves and Ordona? They're dead; you almost died. That should say something. That should say something  _big."_  She clenched her jaw and swallowed. "I swear, it's like every time we turn around—"

"Somebody else drops," Muran said solemnly.

"Yeah," Karé managed. "That."

No one spoke.

"At this rate, how long do the rest of us have?" Karé went on. "Next time we go on patrol, will we even make it home? What if we lost Iolo? Or Muran? Or Poe, Force forbid! I don't even wanna—"

"Karé," Kit cut her off, his voice low and reassuring. His brown eyes rolled up to meet hers, and he looked at her for a second.

Karé let out a shaky sigh.

Kit nodded, gripping her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "I know," he whispered.

"They just can't—"

"I know."

Karé sat on the edge of Kit's bed, her head in her hands. "But you got  _so… close…."_

"We're not going anywhere," Kit reassured, putting weight into every word he spoke. "I promise. I'm not dropping off your wing any time soon. None of us are."

Karé chuckled a little. "You better not. If you do, I will  _hurt_  you."

Someone suddenly laughed.

"Damn," Poe said, yawning a little. "Karé with the threats. I don't need to separate anybody, do I?"

Karé rolled her eyes and shook her head. Iolo scoffed, grinning.

"You okay, Commander?" Kit asked.

A wide smile cracked across Poe's face. "Yeah, buddy. Doing just fine."

"What about Mila?"

Poe nodded. "She's alright."

"Where were you two?"

"Flight line. Up over top of it. You'll have to get her to show you some time, bud."

Karé sighed. "You sure you're alright?"

Poe nodded. "I was more worried about you all. Didn't mean to up and leave like that."

"Nah," Kit grinned. "You didn't. I kicked you out. You needed it, Commander. No worries." A little bit of mischief brimmed in his eyes. "But what were you two doing? You were gone for almost an hour."

Poe's eyes popped. "We were?"

"Damn," Karé piped up. "Losing semblance of time? It must have been good."

Iolo and Muran snickered.

"Where is she now?"

"Back in her quarters. She was wiped out, so I took her back."

"Good man," Muran grinned.

Poe pulled over a chair and unceremoniously flopped into it, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he watched his squadron carry on and joke. He folded his hands across his chest, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"So, when are we heading back out tomorrow, Commander?" Karé asked.

She didn't get an answer.

"Commander?"

The lieutenant turned around and found Poe with his chin on his chest, fast asleep. She smiled, shaking her head and laughing a little bit.

"Man down," she chuckled.

Her dark eyes sparkled, the wisps of a smile still tugging at the corners of her lips. She suddenly grew very quiet as she watched her commander sleep.

"What is it?" Iolo asked.

"Nothing, Iolo," Karé murmured. "Just thinking."

Iolo raised his eyebrows in anticipation. "Thinking what?"

Karé's smile turned to a wide grin as she nodded towards their sleeping commanding officer. "I think they've found something in each other," she said softly.

Muran's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Poe and Lieutenant Criss," Karé replied, that same soft, knowing gleam in her eye. "I know it hasn't been long and that they'll deny it if you asked them, but when they look at each other..."

The radiant, excited smile that shot across her face finished her thoughts better than words ever could have.

Iolo and Muran exchanged glances. Kit grinned.

"You see it too, don't you?"

The three men nodded, all smiles.

"I can't think of anybody who deserves it more," Kit said genially. "After how he sticks his neck out for us..."

"He's earned it," Iolo finished.

Muran nodded, his dark gaze softening.

"Something tells me they both have," he said. He scoffed good-naturedly. "Now if he'd just wake up and smell the roses."

Karé laughed softly. "I think he already has," she mused. "He just hasn't admitted it to himself yet." Her eyes softened.

"But one thing's for sure, boys," she went on, looking towards Poe and smiling. "We're in for something special."


	7. A Close Call

_Chapter 7: A Close Call_

Mila heard the alarm from halfway down the hallway, a steady, shrieking pulse that chilled her to the bone. Breaking into a jog, she quickly tapped the combination to Kit's door and rushed through the threshold. She sped to his bedside.

Something was very, very wrong.

"Kit?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain calm. "Lieutenant Anderon, can you hear me?"

His clammy brow furrowed, and he groaned. His skin had paled. He was breathing heavily.

Mila's eyes darted to one of the monitors behind Kit's head. Her heart dropped to her stomach.

"No. No, no, no, no!" Her hands, now shaking a little, pulled back Kit's sheets and lifted the corner of his shirt. Large, deep red and purple bruises steadily grew under his skin, right under the shrapnel scar.

He suddenly squirmed, and one of the splotches rapidly expanded, the deep red at its center darkening to almost black.

"Damn it!" she whispered sharply.

He was bleeding internally.

Kit's dark eyes snapped open, panic flailing within them. Mila ran a hand through his hair, hoping it would calm him down.

"I'm right here, buddy," she soothed, straining to keep her voice level as she started to wheel him out towards the OR. "It's nothing to worry about. You're gonna be just fine."

He had already gone into shock.

Several other medics had heard the alarm and rushed to Mila's side.

"It won't take much effort to fix this, Kit," Mila reassured. "I promise."

Kit nodded, his drooping eyes not leaving hers.

"And you won't be awake this time, bud. That's always a plus."

Despite himself, Kit managed a small chuckle. The doors to the OR hissed open, and the head surgeon, a lieutenant colonel, took over.

"Lieutenant Criss," he greeted, his voice amazingly level.

"Colonel Sundar," she sighed, relieved to see him. In contrast to Krell, Sundar never seemed to be uptight, and whenever he came in the room, everyone instantly relaxed. Out of all her commanding officers, Mila had always liked him best.

"What happened?" Sundar asked, his blue eyes concerned as he fell in stride next to his lieutenant.

"Stomach is leaking," Mila said hurriedly. "Cauterization was fine last night when I saw him. He must have been restless."

"Anything to cause it?"

Mila's jaw tightened. "Incident stress. Let's say that."

"What happened?"

Mila swallowed. "He could tell you better than I can, sir. The last few days have just—"

"Anybody got a lock on those sedatives?" Sundar called, taking a few long-stridden steps to a nearby sink to sterilize his hands and lower arms.

Mila scrambled for a long syringe, quickly finding a vein and inserting the needle into Kit's skin as gently as she could.

"Don't worry, buddy," she whispered as his muscles relaxed and his eyes closed. "You're gonna be just fine." She turned back to Sundar. "The last few days have been hard on him."

Sundar nodded. "Lieutenant, see if you can get a hold of Rapier Squadron. They need to know."

"Now, sir?"

"Yes," Sundar ordered, pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. "It won't take me long to sew this up. You caught it before it really got bad. Don't worry about him. But Rapier needs to know as absolutely soon as possible. Go."

"Are you sure you're not gonna need my help, Colonel?"

Sundar smiled a little, shaking his head. "I'm sure. Rapier's gonna need you more than I will. Drop a line to the CO."

"On it, sir," Mila said, crisply turning back around and rushing through the door. She sped out to the overlook from a few nights before and fumbled with her comm.

 _Don't panic_ , she told herself. _He's in good hands; he's going to be fine_.

The comm beeped several times, but no one answered. Mila's stomach dropped to her toes.

"Come on, Poe," she whispered impatiently. "What in hell are you doing?"

* * *

"We're not having this discussion again, Commander."

Poe's shoulders tensed rigidly, his index finger pointedly fixed to the top of the large conference table that sprawled in front of him. His dark eyes stared – no, _bored_ – directly into his commanding officer's.

True to form, Major Deso didn't waver. Barely even blinked.

"All I'm asking is that that task force keep their eyes open," Poe explained, his voice straining under the heat of his anger. His eyes flicked to a muted holo report in the corner of the room. "Senate Intelligence isn't overtly good at doing that."

"What makes you say that?"

Poe squeezed his eyes shut. "Almost half of my squadron is _dead_ , Major. One is in serious condition."

"Yes, we know. Because of an unfortunate series of accidents."

Poe sighed through his nose, clenching his teeth. He opened his mouth to speak, but was abruptly cut off.

"Don't even start, Commander," Deso snapped. "I know what you're thinking. And it's not the truth."

"How do you know that, Major?"

Poe's comm vibrated in his pocket, but he ignored it.

"If the First Order crossed neutral space and made a _direct attack_ on Republic soil, they would be in direct violation of the Galactic Concordance. And I don't think they plan on risking all-out war with the most powerful force in the galaxy."

Poe was too livid to notice his comm dying out, then vibrating again a few seconds later. "Ever thought that that may be what they want?" he said pointedly.

Deso rolled his eyes and groaned. "They're _fledgling_ , Commander. Poorly funded. Poorly organized. A handful of scorned loyalists. They know as well as you do that blatantly attacking us would be suicide!"

"Do they?"

Deso pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, sighing exasperatedly.

"Do they, Major? Because Rapier's not sure that they do."

"You never have been, Commander."

"Because my men aren't _blind_."

"No. They're not. They're _delusional_."

Poe raised his eyebrows, gaping a little, completely lost for words.

Deso rocked forward on the heels of his hands, leaning across the table intimidatingly, locking eyes with the commander and refusing to drop his gaze.

"Listen to me very carefully, Commander," Deso said slowly, emphasizing every one of his words as if he were speaking to a convict. "When you and your squadron get to Dantooine, you will _only_ do what protocol _demands_ you do. Nothing more. Yes, it irks me to some degree that Intelligence is walking on glass with this one. Lieutenant Reaves' and Lieutenant Ordona's deaths are unfortunate. But those orders came _directly_ from the Senate, Commander, so there is nothing _anyone_ can do about it. That's just how it works. If you think that—"

Suddenly the door hissed open, and Karé burst through, winded. The color was completely drained from her face.

"Commander," she gasped. "We've got a situation—"

"Lieutenant Kun?" Deso's voice reeked with disdain.

"Apologies, Major. It's urgent."

"Urgent?"

Karé completely ignored him and looked at Poe. "Commander, I'm serious about this one—"

"Hold on, Lieutenant," Poe almost snapped, his eyes still locked with Deso's. "We're not finished here."

Deso sighed, turning back to Rapier One. "If you think that the Senate _won't_ do anything if you decided to—"

"Poe!" Karé suddenly shouted, too angry and too terrified to care how loud she was. "Lieutenant Criss has been trying to get a hold of you for almost twenty minutes! It's Kit! The puncture wound on his stomach reopened!"

" _What?_ "

Hot fear rushed through Poe's face and chest, singing down his limbs and making him dizzy.

"He's bleeding heavily. They're putting up a hard fight to stop it. They've got him in surgery now. No one knows what's going to happen."

Karé turned to Deso and looked him dead in the eyes, desperate. "We need him on their side of base _right now_ , Major," she begged. "Please."

Poe turned back towards Deso, whose anger had been replaced with a sickening dread. He nodded urgently. "Go, Commander. We'll finish this later."

Karé grabbed her friend's arm and pelted down the hallway.

* * *

"Lieutenant?" Mila asked softly, gently combing her fingers through Kit's hair. "Wake up. Look at me, bud. Let me see those handsome doe-eyes."

Kit's eyes fluttered.

"Come on," Mila softly reassured. "It's all over now."

The young man's face scrunched up, and his eyes flickered open. Mila smiled at him.

"Hey there," she whispered. "Welcome back."

Kit swallowed. "W-What happened?" he asked, his clouded eyes wide and confused. "Where am I?"

"New Republic Naval Medcenter," Mila gently replied. "I've got you in a recovery room."

"Who…" Kit inhaled deeply, fighting to break out of the fog the anesthetics had put him. "Wait…." His brow furrowed. "M-Mila?"

Mila smiled at him. "Yep, it's me, buddy."

"Where… where is everyone else?"

"Poe had to go to Republic Command for some reason, and Karé ran to get him. Muran's out on the flight line, but he'll be in as soon as he can be. Iolo's waiting for you back at your room. Six and Eleven are with him."

Kit chuckled weakly. "Never did learn their names, did you?"

Mila shook her head.

Kit smiled a little. "Six is Palvo, Eleven is Cage."

Mila nodded. "Palvo and Cage. Got it."

Kit's brow knotted. "Is… is this… I am gonna be okay, right?"

Mila grinned. "Sundar knows what he's doing. He's got the steadiest hands in the battalion. This could set you back a week or two, but you'll be alright."

The doors behind Mila hissed open, and Sundar and Krell walked through. Sundar smiled; Krell looked pointedly forwards.

"Hey there, Lieutenant," Sundar greeted warmly, pulling up a chair next to Kit's bed. "Good to see you awake. I'm Colonel Sundar. We're trying to figure out what happened. Did you have any pain yesterday at any point?"

Kit's brow furrowed as he thought. He shook his head.

"What about last night?"

"I don't remember."

Mila leaned forwards a little. "How did you sleep last night, bud? Were you restless?"

Kit nodded. "Dreamland wasn't a real happy place, let's just say that."

"Do you remember what you dreamed about?"

Kit shook his head. "There's a lot over the past few days that I can't remember."

Sundar's brow furrowed. "Are you experiencing any pain now, stomach aside?"

Kit nodded. "My head is killing me."

"Where?"

Kit ran his hand along his temple and just over his ear.

"Ah ha," Sundar said, nodding a little. "That makes sense. That bump on your head's in the right spot for a temporal lobe concussion, which would explain any memory loss. A lot of weird things can go on upstairs when you're concussed. That and incident stress don't mesh too well. Tossing and turning could have put too much strain on the incision." He paused. "Do you remember anything else?"

Kit shook his head. "Just waking up with Mila wheeling me out. I thought I was dreaming then, too." He stretched a little bit. "Guess I wasn't."

Sundar smiled. "That's twice she's saved your life, Lieutenant," he said, clapping Mila on the back. "You've really lucked out. She's one of the best I've got."

A reserved smile slipped across Mila's face.

"I'll keep an eye on him, Lieutenant, if you want to go fill in the rest of his squadron. They need to know how he's doing."

Mila nodded, laying a hand on Kit's shoulder. "I'll see you in another hour or so, bud. We'll see how long Sundar decides to trap you back here."

Kit chuckled. "Give Karé a hug for me."

Mila smiled. "Will do."

She stood and went through the threshold and into the hallway, nearly breaking into a run once she rounded the corner and found the rest of Rapier Squadron camped out in the floor in front of Kit's room. Karé and Poe both stood as soon as they saw her coming.

"Is he alright?" Karé asked, anxiety eating away at her features.

Mila nodded. "He got lucky. The lieutenant colonel was in, and he's easily the best surgeon in the building. Had a little trouble at first, but he fixed him right up." She put her hand on Karé's shoulder. "He's going to be perfectly fine. We're watching him closely." She gave the fighter pilot a quick, reassuring hug. "And that's from Kit," she said.

Karé smiled at her. "Guess this makes it twice we owe you one, huh?"

Mila grinned, eyeing her new friend mischievously and folding her arms across her chest. "Guess so."

"Oh, so that's how it is, then?"

"Yep."

Karé chuckled. "I'm sure at least one of us can make it up to you. Somehow. Eventually." Her eyes flicked towards her commanding officer before she could stop them. "One of these days."

Mila scoffed, grinning. She turned towards Poe, and Karé couldn't help but notice how both of their composures changed the second they laid eyes on each other. Mila threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into the top of his shoulder and sighing.

Karé stood back and smiled.

"You holding up okay?" Mila asked, pulling away a little and resting her hand on Poe's arm.

Poe nodded. "I'm a lot more worried about Kit."

Mila sighed. "He gave us a good scare, that's for sure." She smiled up at him, and none of the Rapiers were sure they'd ever see her smile like that before. "But he'll be alright. My lieutenant colonel's gonna watch him for a while, just to make sure everything's running the way it should. You'll be able to see him soon."

"Will this set him back at all?"

"Only by a week or two. Had it gone untreated for much longer, it could have been months." She shook her head. "I am so lucky I got to him when I did. He'd already gone into shock. A few minutes longer, and…." Her voice trailed off. "I don't know. It would've been bad. Er… worse."

Poe nodded, realizing he hadn't dropped his hands from Mila's hips. Her small hand slid over the top of his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"But he's in very good hands, Poe," she said softly, running her thumb over his scarred knuckles. "You don't have to worry about him."

Poe smiled at her.

A lot of eyes were on them. Neither one of them cared.

"They're gonna run some scans before they bring him back out here, just to make sure there aren't any other complications we weren't aware of. He should be back out in an hour or so."

"Is he awake?"

Mila smiled, nodding. "And joking."

Poe grinned. "That's reassuring." He finally dropped his arms back to his sides, leading Mila back towards the rest of the squadron. "What do you think caused it?"

Mila shook her head. "We're trying to figure that out now. Kit told me he didn't sleep well last night; he kept having nightmares, though he can't remember them. I'm thinking incident stress. His concussion probably has something to do with it, too. He hit the right part of his head. But we'll know for sure here soon. Sundar knows what he's doing. No one has to worry."

Karé nodded, taking in a deep breath and blowing it out. Iolo slipped a lanky arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm and giving her a reassuring squeeze. Muran smiled to himself. The two remaining pilots, who Mila assumed to be Palvo and Cage, exchanged relieved glances.

Though their composures had relaxed a good bit, Mila couldn't help but notice that they looked pretty sullen. Karé twiddled her thumbs; Iolo's arm dropped from her shoulders as he leaned up against the wall with his large eyes shut. Muran's smile disappeared as he blankly stared at the floor. Palvo bit her lip; Cage fidgeted. Poe steadily gazed at her, his dark eyes weary. Slowly, he took a few steps towards her, standing just off to her right.

Mila put a hand on his shoulder, looking up at him and offering a small, soft smile. She desperately wanted to take him back to that overlook – get him away from the rush of everything and hold him until all the tension melted away, perhaps even try to coax his beautiful smile out from hiding – but she felt it would be too selfish of her. His squadron needed him too badly.

Mila sighed. The hour was already dragging.

* * *

"Man. Life's just not letting up on you guys, is it?"

Though his voice was knocked down a few octaves from exhaustion, Kit was still laughing. Mila grinned as she wheeled him in, her heart swelling as the rest of Rapier enthusiastically greeted their comrade.

"Does it ever?" Palvo laughed, ruffling Kit's hair. "You better watch it, nerfherder. Don't want Kun on your case, do ya?"

Karé scoffed, smiling. "Already there, Six," she said. "I warned him."

Kit snickered. "That you did. Guess I'm just not a good listener."

Karé sat down next to Kit, folding one long leg over the other. "That was too damn close, kid."

"Agreed. But hey, I got through it. I'm still here. It's like I told you, I'm not coming off your wing any time soon, Karé. A promise is a promise."

Karé smiled at him, though a tinge of grief rested in her irises. She let out a long, low sigh.

"You okay?"

Karé shook her head. "We've got some news, bud."

"Bad?"

"Sort of."

The others moved in around Kit's bed, either dragging chairs towards it or sitting on the floor. Mila looked up from her work.

"What is it?" Kit asked.

Karé sighed. "Poe? You wanna take this one?"

Poe nodded. "Deso called me in this morning. Gave me a briefing." He sighed, his eyes dropping to the floor. "They're sending us back out to Dantooine, bud. They want us on patrol while the Pathfinders try to figure out what happened."

Mila froze. Kit's face fell.

"I know, bud," Poe sighed. "We're not happy about it, either. At all."

"When do you leave?" Mila suddenly asked.

Poe's shoulders sagged. "Tomorrow afternoon," he mumbled. "After the services for Reaves and Ordona. They're back to back."

Mila's heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.

"I wish I could be there," Kit sighed. "And you only just got back, damn it! Don't they believe in giving you a break?"

Poe chuckled, softly patting Kit's shoulder. "Nothing we haven't done before, pal. It's just…" His voice trailed off, and he briefly looked at Mila. His frown deepened. "Yeah. We just got back. And I sure as hell am not ready to head out again. Nor am I too happy about leaving one of my own behind. Just doesn't feel right."

BB-8 beeped in agreement.

Kit nodded, laughing a little. "I'll be sure to hold down the fort for you, Commander." His voice hardened. "But everybody _better_ come back from this one." He nodded towards Mila. "Only so many of them to go around, you know. Don't wanna exhaust our resources, here."

Mila chuckled.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Four weeks," Poe moaned.

Kit sighed. "Great. Four weeks of staring at a wall. Thanks, Deso. We love you, too."

Everyone cracked up.

"But I'm not kidding, guys," Kit said earnestly. "I better see all six of your fighters sitting on that flight line next month."

Cage grinned. "That's the plan, kid. You just wait and see."

"It better be!" Kit exclaimed.

Poe smiled. "It will be, bud." His eyes found Mila's from across the room. "It will be."

Mila paused, returning Poe's gaze. "Kit's right. It _better_ be."

Poe laughed. "It will be!" His voice softened. "I promise." He turned back to Kit. "And you won't be staring at a wall the whole time, bud. You've got some exceptional company."

Kit flashed a grin at Mila. "You bet I do, Commander."

Mila scoffed, shaking her head and smiling, which made Poe grin.

"That's right. Be jealous. As you are staring into the void of realspace, freezing your ass off and dying from boredom, you can remember that. I'll comm ya. Who knows? I might even be really awesome and let you talk to Mila."

"I don't think he'd mind that," Iolo interjected.

"I know I wouldn't!" Poe exclaimed. "Patrol can get pretty damn boring!"

"Yeah, Poe," Palvo joked. "That's the _only reason_."

Everyone laughed.

"So," Karé said. "We've got the rest of today to drive you crazy, baby face. I've already sent a message to my techs; they're gonna set up my fighter for me so I can stay in with you before we go. Got 'em on top of everybody else's, too, just so they can catch a break. Tie up some loose ends. Get stuff done."

Kit's brow furrowed. "What stuff?"

Karé's eyes flicked between Poe and Mila. "You know," she said. "Stuff."

A grin slowly spread across Kit's sleepy face. "Ah. _That_ stuff."

Karé smiled, wagging her eyebrows up and down. "I am _good_ , aren't I?"

"Sure you are," Poe chuckled sarcastically, picking up on the hidden meaning completely.

Kit laughed. Mila smiled unsurely, chuckling a little.

"We'll probably camp out in here tonight, Kit, if that's okay with you," Iolo informed. "Keep you company."

"Sounds good to me." He turned. "Mila?"

Mila nodded. "Do whatever you feel like you need to. No one here's gonna object."

Poe grinned at her appreciatively.

"I'm gonna go run some tests on these samples, Kit, and I'll be right back."

Kit nodded. Mila grinned at him and went to the door, a medical droid following her through the threshold. Poe watched the back of the door for a second, the starts of a smile etching across his face.

"Time's wasting, Commander," Kit drawled, smirking mischievously. "If you're gonna do anything, now is the time."

Poe shot him an exasperated grin, and Kit laughed until it hurt.


	8. I'll See You Soon

_Chapter 8: I'll See You Soon_

Mila awoke to her comm beeping, jolting her from her sleep. Groggily, she picked it up, trying to force the sleepiness from her voice.

"Lieutenant Criss," she yawned.

"Morning," Darren's voice answered from the other side. He sounded worried.

"Something wrong, sergeant?"

"Yeah. Where are you?"

"Asleep, Darren. It's five in the morning. I had nothing assigned."

"You sure about that, Lieutenant?"

Mila sat up, fumbling for her datapad. "Hold on, sergeant. Lemme check." She opened the device and scrolled through it for a moment. "Nothing here."

"Huh."

Mila's brow furrowed. "What?"

"That's… interesting."

"What is, sergeant?"

Darren winced. "Your whole platoon is out here," he said slowly. "We're set to leave for Dantooine in ten minutes."

" _What_?" Mila barked, adrenaline coursing through her body.

"Yeah."

"Is this some kind of a joke, sergeant?"

"No, ma'am. It's not. We're out on the flight line now. I'm all geared up; so is Wex. Krell's out here, too. Listen."

Mila paused, straining her ears. A few seconds later, broken fragments of Krell's final orders marched through the comm. A few engines roared in the background, and Mila could hear troop movements mixing in with them.

"What the hell…?" she whispered. "Hold on, sergeant. I'll be down in a minute."

"Alright. Marge, out."

As quickly as she could, Mila scrambled for her duffel. Suddenly thankful that she hadn't really had time to unpack in the past few days, she snatched it off the floor and hoisted it onto her bed, throwing a few extra pairs of socks and an extra pair of boots in before zipping it shut. Hastily she threw on her fatigues, laced up her boots, and pulled her pack onto her back, snatching up her blaster rifle as she sprinted out the door.

The sun had just started to peak out over the top of the flight line, warming Hosnian's skyline with the first light of day. Troops marched into transports in perfect formation, and Mila hastily searched for her platoon.

"Wex!" she called. "Darren! Where the hell are you?"

"What are you doing?" a cold voice grumbled from behind her.

Mila clenched her teeth and took a deep breath, turning around to face Krell where she stood. "What does it look like, Major? My platoon's headed out, and they're not going anywhere without me."

"Yes, they are."

Mila's face froze in a confused gape. "What?"

Krell pursed her lips together smugly. "You were not assigned to take this mission, Lieutenant. You are to stay here." She took a step forward. "Where you won't cause any trouble."

Mila squinted at Krell. "Any trouble?"

Krell scoffed. "The Pathfinder division we've been assigned to is searching out the remains of the battle on Dantooine," she informed, folding her arms across her chest and drawing herself up to her full height. "They are experts. They don't need anyone distorting their judgment before they make their final call."

"Distorting their judgment?" Mila repeated, appalled. "You're keeping me here because you think I would be distorting their judgment? Judgment of _what_ , Major?"

"Your discussion with Rapier Squadron should give you a few clues." She nodded curtly, turning towards the transport.

Mila groaned. "Major!" she called, trotting after Krell. "Major, these are _my_ men. This is _my_ command. I can't just sit back while they—"

"Go back inside, Lieutenant," Krell snapped.

"Major—"

"Go back inside; that's an order!"

Mila's jaw dropped. "Unbelievable," she sighed, shaking her head. "Why didn't you tell me beforehand?"

"It was a last-minute decision, Criss. I trust you'll understand." Krell's long fingers wrapped around her duffel as she hoisted it onto her back. "We can't all get our way. You, obviously, are yet to discover that."

Mila was speechless.

"One month, Lieutenant. You should be able to survive without me for that long." Krell turned sharply on her heel.

Mila silently fumed as she watched the major march onto the nearest transport with her platoon. She shook her head, her brow knit and her mouth hanging open.

"Unbelievable," she muttered.

* * *

"Well," Poe sighed. "At least Kit's still got you here with him. Makes all this a little easier if I know who's working on him."

They were standing on their overlook, watching the sunrise as a few pilots woke up their fighters. He offered Mila a small smile and handed her a slice of shuura fruit. She took it gratefully and nibbled on it.

"Still," he said. "That doesn't make any sense. That'd be like Deso taking off with Rapier just because he felt like it. How'd this get past the higher-ups?"

Mila shook her head. "They all respect Krell. She could have declared me emotionally unfit or something. I don't know. She's pulled some crazy stuff in the past, but nothing like this. I don't get it. I mean, she's never been particularly fond of me, but I never thought that was an excuse."

"It's not," Poe agreed.

Mila sighed. "I just don't understand why she didn't tell me in the first place."

Poe shook his head. "Beats the hell out of me."

They stared ahead for a moment, watching as a few fighters took off and maneuvered.

"At least I'll be able to see you off when you go," Mila said softly.

Poe turned and looked at her, clasping her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You should be coming with me."

"I know," Mila replied. "I wish I was. But… four weeks isn't _so_ bad, is it? I mean, we've both done worse."

Poe nodded. "My record's two years. Rapier's is eleven months."

"Eleven months?"

"Yep."

"Where?"

Poe grimaced. "Hoth."

"Oh, _ouch_."

"Yeah. When they say it's cold, they mean it. None of us have _any_ desire to go back there. It was pretty miserable." He smiled a little. "That was Ordona's first mission with us. He took it like a champ. Coruscantis are pretty thick-skinned anyway, having lived under the Emperor's nose for so long, but… man. Nothing shook that guy. Nothing. I wish you could've met him. Reaves, too."

Mila smiled. "Tell me about them."

Poe paused, trying to figure out the best way to describe them. "You've met Muran, right?"

Mila nodded.

"Ordona was a lot like Muran. Quiet, kind of gruff, but deadly behind the stick. He'd do anything for his wingmen. Absolutely anything. So would Reaves. Except Reaves would talk your ear off as he did it."

Mila chuckled. "That sounds like Kit."

"Yeah," Poe nodded, grinning. "Kit reminds me a lot of Reaves, when he was around that age. But Reaves was… I don't know. Quieter? More reserved, I guess, than Kit is now. It took him some time to warm up to us. Starting out, he was pretty shy. Had you talked to him a week ago, you never would've guessed that."

Mila smiled. "I wish I could have met them."

Poe slipped his arm around her shoulders. "Me, too. Something tells me you'd have gotten along pretty well."

Mila leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, you put up with me, don't you?"

Mila grinned. "You make it sound like a chore."

"Is it?"

Mila laughed. "Hell no." She pulled back a little, resting her chin on Poe's chest and smiling up at him. "As a matter of fact, I kinda like it."

"Do you?"

"Mm-hmm."

Poe grinned at her. "You're not so bad yourself, you know."

"I'm not?"

"Nope," he said, stooping and kissing the bridge of her nose.

Mila chortled, beaming as she rested her head on Poe's shoulder and relaxed into his arms. Poe smiled to himself, tightening his grip and watching the horizon. Hosnian was just beginning to wake up, and the traffic lanes started to thicken into rush hour. The sun warmed the sides of the buildings, turning their gleaming sides and the river that wound in the distance a molten shade of gold.

Repulsors fired up on the flight line beneath them, and a full squadron of X-wings rose and shot off into the air. Poe sighed.

Rapier was like that, once. Before….

He stopped himself before he could finish the thought. He buried his face into Mila's hair, drinking in her scent as he pulled her closer.

"Who am I kidding?" he sighed into her ear. "Four weeks is a _long_ time."

* * *

Kit couldn't be at the services himself, so he decided to bring them up on the holo.

Mila sat on Kit's bedside, watching as Poe somberly spoke of his fallen wingmen, one after the other. A line of five graves, all with the insignia of Rapier Squadron engraved on the headstones, stretched across a plot of grass in the middle of the New Republic Starfleet Memorial Gardens. Two black caskets, each draped with the New Republic flag, sat in front of them.

Kit sighed. Mila put a hand on his shoulder.

After he came down from the podium, Poe and Karé lifted the flags from the caskets, folding and saluting them one at a time.

Karé was given the task of delivering them to the families. A grieving wife, a devastated mother. Karé stood on ceremony as she gently spoke to them, as she pressed the flags into their hands and delivered each one final, fervent salute.

"She's done that every time we've lost somebody," Kit said sullenly. "And every time, she says she wishes she could do something more. Say something worthwhile. That doesn't sound so… hollow. You know, something that Reaves and Ordona would be proud of."

Mila nodded.

Slowly, Karé backed up and fell into line with her squadron, who stared stoically ahead as two gun salutes banged off behind them.

Kit frowned. "I should be there with them."

Mila nodded. "I wish I was, too."

Engines roared overhead, and Kit looked up.

"What's that?" Mila asked.

"Missing man formation," Kit replied sadly, gazing at the ceiling as if he could see through it to the sky. "The fifth time in a month they've flown it for us." He nodded towards the window. "Here they come."

Mila stood and paused, leaning against the wall as she watched two sets of four X-Wings surge through the air towards them. Each formation had one fighter at the point, two to the right side of the leader and one to the left. Suddenly, the first fighter to the right of the point accelerated, climbing into the air as the other three soared underneath it, leaving a gaping hole in the formation. The second group followed suit.

Mila sighed, her eyes staring at the large gap between fighters. "Five times?"

Kit nodded. "Korne and Tendora went down last month. Patrol off Daxam Four went sour. Colsan, last week. Command sent us on the same pass." His shoulders sagged. "They flew the formation for them then, and they're doing it for Reaves and Ordona now. Every fallen pilot gets one." He sighed. "I just hope we don't have to see it again any time soon."

Mila nodded, suddenly struck. "So do I, buddy," she said, her hazel eyes flicking back up to the holo and at Poe, who gravely stood at attention. "So do I."

* * *

She'd only ever stood on the permacrete itself once or twice, and she had a hard time finding it on her own, but Mila knew she needed to be there. The wind whipped her hair from her ponytail, soft wisps of dark brown crossing her forehead and cheeks. The sun was just beginning to set.

Mila's eyes darted to the pilot's prep room, where Rapier currently suited up. She sighed, looking at the line of their fighters. Seven were parked there, including Kit's, and this time next month, she earnestly hoped she would see seven there again. Her shoulders sagged a little, her eyes stopping and lingering on the black one for longer than she would readily admit.

Hot fear suddenly stabbed at her heart. She bit her lip, variations of the same question reeling through her mind.

_What if he is the one who doesn't come back? What if his fighter's the next one to go missing? What if they fly that formation for—_

She clenched her teeth, stopping herself from thinking any further. _Mila, he always comes back. You're overthinking things. He's going to be fine. Just take a deep breath and—_

"Mila?"

The lieutenant turned around, her eyes slowly rising towards the speaker.

"Hey," Karé greeted, trying to smile a little as she came up alongside Mila. "Somebody tell you when we were heading out?"

Mila nodded. "It's not hard information to get a hold of. Not around here, at least." She tried to smile a little. "I wanted to make sure you all were alright."

Iolo nodded. "We're holding up."

Mila put a small hand on his shoulder. "I wish I could have been there, Iolo. Kit and I both do. We were watching."

Karé smiled a little. "We figured." She sighed, looking towards her fighter. "Guess this is it, huh?"

Mila nodded. "Yup."

The two exchanged solemn glances before tightly hugging one another. Mila stepped back, turned to Iolo, and wrapped her arms around him.

"You two be careful," she said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders.

The two Rapiers grinned. "We will be," they replied in unison.

Reaching up and fitting her helmet onto her head and pulling her flight gauntlets on, Karé hopped up the ladder and into the cockpit of her fighter, her R4 unit rising into the astromech socket behind her.

"Keep an eye on Kit for me," Karé called.

Mila smiled. "Will do."

Two sets of quad engines roared to life, screeching as the repulsors kicked in. Mila took a few steps back before she felt a hand on her shoulder. Muran grinned at her, and she gave him a hug.

"Thanks for everything, Lieutenant," he said.

Mila smiled at him, and he was on his way, hoisting himself up into his fighter and revving the engines. Palvo and Cage followed suit, stopping and saying quick goodbyes to Mila before climbing into their own fighters.

Something cold and round pressed into her calf, and Mila turned around, laughing as BB-8 chirped and whistled at her. She sank to a knee.

"I know, buddy," she said. "I don't want to see you go, either."

The little droid beeped, his body rocking back and forth with every noise he made. Mila grinned.

"Look after them for me, will you?"

BB-8 bobbed his head up and down as if he were nodding.

"I know you will."

She felt someone standing behind her, and a pang of emotion stabbed at her chest. Slowly, she stood and turned around, smiling sadly up at Poe.

Emotions took over, and she took a few steps forward and threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder.

"Come back," she murmured.

Poe nodded. "I will."

His voice was so sure, so stalwart, that Mila had no trouble believing him. She blew out a long breath and slid out of his arms, standing on her tiptoes and kissing him on the cheek.

"Go get 'em," she whispered, the starts of a smile quivering on her lips.

Poe beamed at her, taking a few steps back as he pulled on his flight gauntlets. He hauled himself up the ladder and into the cockpit of his fighter, fitting his helmet down on his head as BB-8 popped into the socket behind him. The X-wing's quad engines screamed as they started, almost as if the fighter was issuing a war cry.

"I'll see you soon," Poe shouted. Mila grinned.

The canopy dropped down and locked into place, and the fighter rose into the air, the other Rapiers mirroring their leader's actions exactly. They filed into formation, their bodies slowly stretching and snapping into hyperspace with a synchronized bang.

Mila's eyes wandered across the sky, her lips parting into a faint smile.

Four weeks, she told herself. Let the countdown begin.


	9. Dantooine

_Chapter 9: Dantooine_

It was quiet. Too quiet, for Mila's taste. The base seemed empty, hollow, lackluster. She was barely sleeping. Even when she did, it was restless and sporadic, and when she woke up the next morning, she felt as if she'd had no rest at all.

She was terrified.

A week had passed, and she had heard nothing. Not from her platoon, not from Jaren's Pathfinder battalion, and not – most frighteningly of all – from Rapier Squadron. The thought gnawed on her conscience as she stood on the overlook, gazing out over the stars as they peaked through Hosnian's darkening sky. Kit had felt well enough to join her, and the two looked back and forth between the fading sunset and the flight line.

Mila hadn't said a word.

"Lieutenant?" Kit asked, his brow knotting with concern. "You alright?"

Mila turned, forcing a smile and nodding. Still she didn't speak; she only blew out a long, labored breath.

"You sure?"

"I'm fine, bud. Just… winded."

Kit nodded, frowning a little. He sighed. "I'm scared, too."

Mila's brow furrowed.

"I'd have thought Karé'd commed me by now. Or Poe."

They both fell silent.

Anxiety leaked into Mila's eyes even as she tried to will it away. "You don't think something's happened, and that's why we haven't heard—"

"Hey," Kit said, putting a hand – which was strengthening – on her arm, trying to offer a little bit of comfort. "Things work a little differently in the air than they do on the ground. With any part of the Starfleet, no news is usually good news. They'll be alright. Just as the only fighter squadron that's along for the ride, they're up to their eyeballs right now. The second they get a break, we'll hear something. Just wait." He smiled gently. "He won't leave you hanging forever, Mila. Promise."

"He? Don't you mean 'they?'"

Kit grinned. "No," he replied, shaking his head. "No, no, no. Definitely 'he.'" His smile broadened. "I've seen the way he looks at you."

Mila scoffed, grinning. "Oh, please."

"I'm not kidding!"

"That's the pain killer talking, buddy."

"Is it?"

Mila's voice shook with nervous laughter. "Yes, it is."

Mischief gleamed in Kit's eyes. "You don't sound too sure about that."

Mila sighed, shaking her head. "What am I gonna do with you?"

Kit shrugged, an innocent smile stretching across his face.

Laughing softly, Mila looked back at the flight line, her eyes tracing the wispy white starfighter contrails that twisted through the clouds and across the red sky. Her fingers wrapped around the railing, her shoulders sagging as her smile faded. Kit put a hand on her shoulder.

"You don't need to worry," he reassured softly. "He always comes back, Mila. You wait and see. He told you he would." He gently nudged her arm with his elbow. "So why not believe him?"

Though she still smiled, a wistful sadness sparkled in Mila's eyes. She sighed. "Sometimes it's just not that simple, bud."

Kit's eyes wandered to the horizon, where a few fighters were landing for the night.

"It could be, Mila, if you let it."

Though she didn't answer with words, a small smile crept across her worried façade. "I wish I could."

Kit's face fell. His eyes wandered up to the sky, which was nearly dark. Stars slowly began to peek through, and he mulled over them one by one, sulking a little bit when he reached Dantooine.

"I wish I was there with them," he said sullenly.

Mila sighed, her shoulders sagging as she looked up at the stars. "So do I."

She chewed at her bottom lip, frowning as she raked the sky with her eyes. Kit suddenly smiled, an idea popping into his head.

"You know which one's Dantooine?" he asked.

Mila shook her head.

Kit grinned, pointing ahead of him into the sky. "That real bright one, just above where the sky's turning purple. See it?"

Mila leaned a closer to him, squinting as she tried to follow his directions. "I don't know," she said, craning her neck.

"That's 'cause you're looking the wrong way," Kit laughed. "Follow my finger. Straight out in front of you. That Y-wing's about to pass right underneath it. There it goes. See it now?"

Mila's face brightened, a real smile stretching across the corners of her mouth. "That bright bluish one?"

"Yep," Kit nodded, grinning. "That's it." He turned and smiled at her. "Doesn't seem so far away now, does it?"

Mila's lips parted a little, and she found herself nodding.

A soft smile spread across Kit's face. "I do that for my Aly whenever I have to leave. Showed her where Dantooine was before we took off, so she could look up and see me while I was gone." His smile broadened. "Corny as all get out, I know, but she says it helps. Had I been thinking, I'd have told Poe to do the same thing for you." His voice softened knowingly. "Makes it a little easier, now that you can see where he is, doesn't it?"

Mila drew in a deep breath and nodded, leaning against the railing and fixing her eyes on the system in the distance.

She wondered what he was doing.

* * *

Somewhere on the surface of Dantooine, tucked away within the ruins of a New Republic base, Poe stared at the sky, his dark eyes fixed to one large, golden star.

Though they were light years apart, he could see her in his mind's eye. A soft smile curled across his face.

He wondered what she was doing.

Most likely she was still in the medcenter with Kit, carefully monitoring his progress. Maybe she sat on his bedside, opening her mouth in a wide grin as she laughed at one of his jokes. Maybe she stood on their overlook, watching her little brother fly as she finished off the last of a meal. What time of day was it, even? Was the sun even up?

What if she was asleep?

Poe's expression softened even further. The thought of her being that still – that tranquil – made him grin. He imagined her arms delicately curled underneath her pillow, her hair spilling across the sheets and her lips folded into a relaxed pout as her chest gently rose and fell under the blankets. She wouldn't be worried or anxious or uptight. For once, she'd be at peace.

He'd give anything see that right now – sit by her side and run his fingers through her hair in time with her breathing – instead of the bleakness of the charred ruble that dug into his back.

Karé and Iolo were asleep on either side of him; Cage and Muran on either side of them with Palvo curled up like a loth-cat in a hole in the wall above them. But despite the weighty exhaustion that pulled heavily on his eyelids, Poe couldn't sleep. If he had at all since they'd made planetfall, it had been so restless that it was next to useless. His eyes wandered across the sky.

The sounds of the crash – the quad engines sputtering, Kit and Karé desperately screaming to each other across the comms – rang vividly in Poe's ears. He eyed the rubble that sprawled across the ground around him. Occasional pieces of transparisteel and metal shrapnel jutted out from the mounds of rock. If the moonlight hit them just right, far grislier things sneered at him through the holes.

They were lucky that Kit had gone down where he had. Had they been over top of the base—

 _You're not going there_ , _Dameron_ , he abruptly chastised himself, clenching his teeth in quiet frustration. _You're not going there. Not again_.

He needed to clear his head.

Restlessness tingled in his legs, and Poe found himself standing, carefully stepping over the rest of his squadron as he made his way forward. Rubble and debris threatened to throw him off balance with every step, biting at his feet through the soles of his flight boots as he walked. Finally, the ground underneath him leveled out, and he found himself walking on dead grass, wrapping his flight jacket around his shoulders as he trudged across it.

His eyes scanned the horizon, wandering up a hill, stopping dead on the skeleton of a T-85 X-wing.

Kit.

Hardly daring to breathe, Poe inched forward, curiosity taking over his common sense as he crept up the hill. Smoke wafted up his nose – the smell of burning fuel and rubber always made his blood run cold – and his face set itself into a hard, haunted frown.

"Holy kriff," he breathed. "It's still here."

"Barely," a voice sighed.

Poe's head snapped up, his dark eyes locking with the Pathfinder's hazel ones. His brow furrowed.

He recognized those eyes from somewhere.

The Pathfinder nodded, clapping the fighter's hull. "Looks like whoever led this attack tried to burn the remains, but didn't get the job done," he explained. "Scorch marks on the wing aren't right for an ion cannon blast or an engine fire. I mean, they're there in different places, but that's not what's got me scratching my head."

Poe's brow furrowed, his dark eyes reflecting curiosity and fear as they flicked towards the rank cluster on the soldier's collar. "Scratching your head over what, Colonel?"

The Pathfinder nodded towards the wreckage. "Come here."

Moving with the solemnness of a man walking past a dead body, Poe ducked under a bent S-foil as he came up alongside the fighter.

"Look at this," the Pathfinder said, his small fingers tracing over a striking, straight black line of soot and ash that sprawled from the X-wing's nose to the canopy latch. "This line is way too straight for it to have come from the engine. And the hit came from the other side, which means this isn't from the cannon that took it down, either."

Poe took a step forward, reaching up to touch the mark on the T-85's hull with a scarred, calloused hand. "What did it, then?"

The Pathfinder tensed. "Flame-throwers."

Poe froze, his dark eyes widening as he sharply turned his head. "Flame _what_?" he repeated, his voice strangled with shock.

The lieutenant colonel nodded.

"From who?"

The Pathfinder blew a sigh out from his nose. "Not a damn clue," he said slowly. "I've run scans on this mark as well as the hole in the wing. None of the particles match anything we have in our records, Commander. There's no way for us to tell who's responsible. I mean… I have a few ideas – crazy ideas – but there's no way to prove them. And even if they were true…." His voice trailed off.

"No one would believe you?"

"Commander, _I_ wouldn't believe me, either."

"Why not?"

The Pathfinder shook his head. "It's… gah. I don't know. It's complicated. I just—" He sighed, mulling over the possibilities in his head as he turned back to the fighter. He froze. "I think I'm done for the night, if you wanna come back with me," he said intentionally, hastily trying to change the subject as he turned his attention from the X-wing's burned-out skeleton to the man he was conversing with. He nodded back towards the ruins of the base, and the two started to head back.

"I don't think I got your name, Commander."

Poe smiled a little. "Poe Dameron," he said, stretching out his hand.

"Jaren Criss," the Pathfinder greeted, giving his hand a good shake.

Poe's brow furrowed. "You wouldn't happen to know—"

"Mila?" A huge grin burst across Jaren's face, and he laughed. "I'm her brother, Commander. Held her right after she was born."

Poe gaped a little bit. "Damn," he mused, smiling. "Small galaxy, huh?"

Jaren nodded, his face lighting up. "She told me the whole story, before the word got out. Said it's been an insane few weeks, but she's getting through." He blew out a breath. "By all counts, she should be dead. She and Anderon both." He shrugged, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. "Guess the Force was with them on that one."

Poe chuckled.

"I know her platoon's here. I saw her CO in the mess hall before me and my guys headed out tonight. But I haven't run into Mila yet. You know where their barracks are?"

Poe shook his head. "No," he replied, his voice dropping. "And even if I did, it wouldn't make much of a difference."

"Why not?"

Poe's face fell. "She's not here. Krell left her on Hosnian."

Jaren's brow furrowed. "What the hell? Why?"

Poe tensed. "She thought she'd meddle with the investigations or something, having such close ties to the people who run them."

"How'd she come up with that?" Jaren's voice shrugged in confusion as they ducked under an arch, their feet once again crunching on broken permacrete.

Poe shook his head, clenching his jaw. Though he knew the answer to the question – had been part of that answer himself – he found his shoulders shrugging it off.

Jaren scoffed. "This battalion's huge. I've got two hundred boots on the ground here, and another five hundred on the other side of the mountains. Even if she wanted to –which she wouldn't – Mila'd have to do a kriff-ton of 'meddling' to sway the reports either direction. And she's not the meddling type. I mean, she knows what she thinks about all this snot, and she's not afraid to tell anyone know if she's asked, but—" He stopped, flusteredly lost for words. "Why?"

Poe nodded in agreement, looking up at the sky and letting his eyes wander over the stars. "Good question," he muttered, his voice dropping with disdain. 

Jaren frowned deeply, lines appearing across his brow. Putting his hands on his hips to steady himself, he took a deep breath and sighed.

"So much goes on these days that no one knows about, Commander," Jaren said. "That no one has answers to. Not even us higher-ups, whatever Krell may try to tell you. When the truth threatens to get out, someone always seems to be there to smother it. Time and time again, I've seen it happen." He shook his head. "Like it or not. It's a damn scary thought. And it doesn't make sense."

Poe nodded, his eyes wandering up the hill to the fighter wreckage.

"Nothing makes sense these days, Colonel," he whispered resentfully. "If it did, we wouldn't be in this mess."

Jaren nodded knowingly. "Agreed." He clapped Poe on the back. "It was good to finally meet you, Commander. Mila'd told me a good deal about you." He grinned mischievously. "It's good to see she wasn't lying."

A smile cracked across Poe's face. "Sounded too good to be true, huh?"

"Something like that."

Soldier and pilot chuckled.

"I'll see you around, Dameron," Jaren grinned, still laughing a little bit. His eyes flashed mischievously. "But I catch wind of any funny business with my baby sister, flyboy, and you're forked. Screwed. Vaped." He voice still shook with laughter. "However the hell you wanna put it."

Poe laughed.

"But I don't think I need to tell you that. You pass Mila's test, and you must be pretty damn good."

Poe scoffed, grinning. "Thank you, Colonel."

"Get some rest," Jaren said, clapping Poe on the back. "Force knows you need it." He turned and headed off. "I'll see you around."

Poe nodded, smiling a little. Slowly he dragged himself back to Rapier's corner, plopping down between Karé and Iolo. He folded his hands behind his head, his eyes once again drifting to the stars. He smiled.

Three weeks, and he would be back.

Three weeks, and things would start making sense again.


	10. A Little Bit Longer

_Chapter 10: A Little Bit Longer_

She was exhausted.

Another week and a half had passed – dragged itself through the mud of her worried impatience – but Mila still felt much the same as she had the day he left.

No word. A week and two days since Rapier had hit hyperspace, and she heard nothing. Her stomach turned; whenever she closed her eyes to sleep, they shot back open again.

She willed herself not to think about it, to focus on something else. Something that made her happy. Like… how Calo's face wrinkled up when she opened a can of nutrient paste and shoved it under his nose. Or Damien's big bear hugs. Or that time Jaren's little boys were playing war in the courtyard and they got into a fight over who got to save Aunt Mila from Emperor Palpatine.

She actually chuckled a little, a smile cracking across her face as she forced her eyes closed. She took several deep breaths, trying to relax her muscles and trick her brain into shutting down the rest of her body for the night. Her thoughts drifted over every random thing from her family's antics to what she ate for dinner three nights ago.

Anything – absolutely anything – was better than lying there worrying.

Finally, after a nightlong struggle, she found herself relaxing, the deep trance of sleep finally enveloping her in its arms. Her muscles grew heavy; everything went still, her comm started beeping—

" _Seriously?!_ " she groaned, wanting to scream as her hand danced over the table next to her bunk. When it found nothing, she threw the blankets off, turned on the lights – a sharp stab of pain running down between her eyes when she did – and scourging the room for a little white comlink, wanting nothing more than for the incessant beeping to _stop_.

Finally she found it, tucked in the pocket of one of her fatigues.

"It's three in the morning," she muttered, grumpily fiddling with the controls. "This _better_ be good."

Her thumb mashed into the receiver. "Lieutenant Criss," she moped, sounding much groggier and angrier than she wanted to.

"Damn," a voice joked from the other side. "Thought you'd be a little more excited, sweetheart."

" _Poe?!_ " she cried, juggling the comm in her hands as she tried to contain her excitement. She grinned so wide it hurt, and her hands were shaking.

A soft chuckle came through the speaker. "That's more like it," he said, and Mila could practically hear him grinning.

"Are you okay?" Mila asked, questions tumbling from her lips before she could stop them. "How is it? Is everything all right? Are _you_ alright?"

"Slow down," Poe defused, still chuckling. "I'm fine. A little tired, but that's it. Rapier's all good, too. We've gone up and around the system every day since we've been here, and we've seen pretty much nothing. No one's fighting, no one's falling out of the sky, no one's dead. We're all good."

Mila blew out a long, shaky breath, laughing a little bit from sheer relief. Rising slowly and shutting off the lights, she wandered back over to her bed, pulling the blankets around her shoulders, hunkering down for the night with a sleepy, blissful grin on her face.

"How's everything holding up over there?"

Mila smiled. "Kit's doing much better. He's to the point where he's getting up and moving around. We've gone out to that overlook a few times so he could get some fresh air."

"That's good to hear," he replied, relief seeping through his voice. "We've been worried about him. I'll pass that onto Karé when she gets back. She'll flip."

"What's she doing now?"

"One of the Pathfinders found Kit's old fighter not too long ago. He took her and the others out to see it. Actually—oh, wait. There they are now. Hold on a sec." His voice muffled. "Colonel!" he called.

Mila's brow furrowed a little. "What are you doing?" she asked, a little bit of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"You're really gonna love me in a second," he responded cheekily.

Mila scoffed. "I will?" she playfully shot back.

"Yep." Poe paused, his voice muffling again. "Well don't keep her waiting," he laughed. "Say something!"

"Uh…" a voice started on the other side of the comm. The speaker cleared his throat. "Lieutenant Colonel Criss, here."

Mila's mouth fell open. "Jaren!" she just about shrieked.

"Wait a sec—what the hell? Mila!" Jaren replied, flabbergasted. "You… what!?" He was laughing from surprise. "How are you, sis?"

Mila grinned. "I'm fine," she breathed, grinning so wide that her face hurt. "What about you?"

"All good. Just—frustrated. We've run scans on just about everything we've come across. We got patrols on the ground and in the air, and nobody can find _any_ information. Not even that downed fighter's told us anything. All it's said is that somebody that's not in our records shot him down."

He stopped, and Mila's heart fell to her toes.

"That scares the kriff out of me," she said slowly. "Have you found any anti-starfighter artillery, by chance?"

Jaren sighed. "Just the turret. The gun itself was a big pile of ashes. Too fine for us to get a reading on. There are a lot of those. We're doing everything we can, Mil. Everything we know to do. And we've still got nothing." He sighed. "Whoever this is is doing a damn good job at keeping us off their scent."

Poe hummed in agreement.

"I mean…" Jaren started, his voice lowering. "I have a few ideas about who it could be. But we've got nothing that the Senate will deem 'substantial' enough to convict. If they took the _absence_ of any known information on the blast marks and the remains that we've been able to scan as a sign, then they might reach the same conclusion I'm losing sleep over."

"Which is?" Mila hesitantly asked.

Jaren's voice lowered to a sharp whisper. "If I said it openly, let's just say Command would discharge me with an insanity plea."

Mila's eyes bugged. "You… you think…?"

"I don't know, Mila. I really don't know. It's a possibility, and I like to keep an eye on everything that it could be. The fact that we don't have any record of the weaponry used says, to me, that the model had just been patented. Look into the recent New Republic patent records, and there is _nothing_ for any kind of artillery. At all. If anything, the Republic's trying to _downsize_ the number of boots and guns on the ground right now, not build that number back up again." He grimaced. "The attackers were First Order, Mil. They had to be. But until I can bring back a TIE fighter or a trooper's helmet – a piece of rock-hard evidence, something that I don't have to explain – then Command's not going to buy it."

"Which is insane," Poe interjected.

Mila nodded, sighing. A muffled beeping echoed in the background. Jaren answered his own comm, quickly conversing with the person on the other side.

"Recon meeting," he sighed. "I've gotta run. Whatever's not classified, I'll pass onto you."

"Okay."

"Love you, sis. I'll see you soon."

Static shuffled as the comm passed hands, and Mila drew a deep breath, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Still there?" Poe asked, his voice growing softer.

"Mm-hmm," Mila replied.

"Sound tired. Long day?"

Mila's eyes flicked towards her window, which was completely dark. "You could say that," she yawned. "Just been a series of long days. Really, _really_ long days."

"Please tell me I didn't wake you up."

Mila paused.

"I did, didn't I?"

"No," Mila denied. "Wide awake. Just… yeah. I'm awake. It's… it's—" She paused, her tired brain hastily fumbling for a lie. "It's midday," she said confidently.

"Is it?"

"Yeah."

"Is it snowing there, too? My holo must be wrong."

Mila half chucked, half groaned in defeat.

"If you need it, go back to sleep. I'll comm you back—"

"No, no, no, no, no!" Mila quickly protested. "I'm fine. It's fine. Don't go anywhere. Stay." She sighed. "Stay. Please."

She couldn't see him, but Mila knew he was smiling. "Alright," he agreed. "Not going anywhere. Promise."

Mila smiled sleepily.

"Yeah," Poe commiserated. "I'm already ready to come back." He sighed. "I miss you."

Mila nodded. "I miss you, too. Little over a week, and it'll all be over. I can't wait."

"Neither can I."

Mila looked out her window, at a large, bright blue star. "I can see you," she said sleepily. "Kit showed me where Dantooine was. I can see it from my window." She smiled a little bit. "Makes you seem a little closer." She sighed. "I was so worried, Poe. I thought something'd happened to you."

"Nah," Poe cajoled. "I'm all good. Just tired and sick of being gone. I mean, we all are, but—it's different for me, than the other times. Makes the wait that much more maddening when you've got someone you want to get back to."

Mila smiled. "A little over a week. We're almost there."

"You should be here with me."

Mila sighed. "I know."

"Your platoon's at a little bit of a loss without you. They're holding up and they're all okay, but—yeah. They need their CO back. I think Sundar's regretting not having you around. They need you."

Mila nodded. "At least I've been able to watch Kit. He really is doing better. He's standing up and moving around; he's eating more; he's even starting to get a bit restless, which is always a good sign. He'll be overjoyed to hear you're alright."

"I'll have to comm him later. Or Karé."

"Or I could get him to get a hold of you."

"That'd be appreciated. It's a little dead here today. Things are winding down sooner than they should. People are getting a little careless. It's weird. I don't like it."

Mila frowned. "What do you mean, 'careless'?"

"Everybody's getting too comfortable. Guard's dropped a good bit. People're less discrete about our location; sentries are asleep half the time. I don't have a good feeling, Mila. Cause it's when people start acting like this that sithspit starts happening." He sighed. "Gone this long without any incidents, people. Let's keep it that way."

" _Please_ ," Mila chuckled dryly. She yawned. "Like to keep the number of body bags from this one to a maximum of none, Poe. Watch your back, and tell your squad to do the same, okay?"

"You bet I will."

Mila yawned again. "You'd better. I need you all to come back. Kit and I both do."

Poe's voice softened. "We will," he said. "I don't want you to worry, Mila. We're gonna be fine. Rumors are floating around that we might get to come back early, too."

"I hope they're true!"

Poe chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Me too, Mila, me too." He paused. "Go get some sleep, sweetheart. Force knows you need it."

Mila nodded, her eyes drooping. "I _do_ need it," she yawned.

"Get some rest. I'll get a hold of you if anything changes."

"Mm-hmm."

"See you soon, Mila. And don't worry. I'll be back to bother you before you know it."

Mila chuckled sleepily.

"Goodnight," he said softly. "Dameron, out."

The comm clicked off, and Mila fell into a deep sleep before she could set it down.

* * *

The mess hall was a little more than a tent with a few boxes of ration bars stacked in the corner. The more she stared at them, the more Karé wished she was back on Hosnian. Bored and tired, she could deal with. Bored, tired, _and_ hungry? Not so much. It didn't help that the ration she was nibbling on tasted like salted cardboard.

She'd been in a bit of a funk ever since she's laid eyes on Kit's fighter earlier that day. He'd been so close to being on the inside of that thing, and they'd been so close to flying three missing man formations last month instead of two. The T-85's shell was a cold reminder of that. It weighed heavily on her – struck her to the core and made her blood run cold. She frowned deeply, shaking her head as the rest of Rapier's lieutenants quietly fidgeted or ate around her.

"You okay?" Iolo asked, putting a long-fingered hand on his friend's shoulder.

Karé nodded. "I'm ready to blow this rock," she said flatly.

Cage sighed. "Me, too."

They sat in silence for a minute, Karé tearing off little pieces of her ration and Iolo tracing invisible patterns in the top of the table with his index finger.

"My, my," Palvo said drolly, pulling her black hair up behind her. "We're so cheery today."

Muran scoffed, a little grin cracking his sullen face.

"Where's Poe?" Palvo asked. "Thought he'd be coming in behind you, Kun."

Karé shook her head. "Haven't seen him since before we left. Probably up to his eyeballs in a whole bunch of stuff we don't have to worry about yet."

Palvo nodded. "Figured."

The tent flaps pulled back, and Poe stepped through, BB-8 rolling in behind him. He flipped a ration bar into his hand, smiling to himself.

Karé wasn't sure whether to be amused or concerned. As her long-time friend pulled up a chair in front of her and started working on his ration, she watched him for a few moments.

He was in a complete, delirious fog. Karé wagered she could figure out what put him in it.

"What're you grinning about?" she asked, a smile of her own beginning to work its way across her face.

Poe shrugged. "Just been a good day, Lieutenant."

Karé's grin widened. "How so?"

"Can't really explain it, Karé. Just has been."

Karé shook her head, laughing a little. "Way to try to skirt around that one, Commander. You still failed."

"What?"

Karé grinned. "You got a hold of Lieutenant Criss, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Poe replied, trying to sound as indifferent as possible as he put piece of his ration into his mouth. "Couldn't get Kit, so I went for the next best thing."

"I'm sure you were heartbroken," Palvo piped up sarcastically.

"Unbelievably so," Karé added.

"Somebody's got that information," Poe went on, forcing a smile back, "and she can pass it on if none of us can get Kit."

Trying to make is sound as average as possible, Poe went back to his rations.

"You're making a valiant effort here, Poe," Karé grinned. "You're still failing."

"What?"

"Your eyes are giving you away."

Poe's brow furrowed. "Giving what away, Karé?"

Karé huffed. "Do I have to illustrate this? Yes, I think I do." She picked her cup up in her hand and exaggeratedly set it down in front of her commanding officer. "You see this, Poe?" she said mischievously. "This is your brain. And _this_ —" she tore off a corner of her ration bar and dropped it into the cup, making her drink fizz over the top "—is your brain on Lieutenant Criss."

Everyone – including Karé and Poe – fought with everything in them not to burst out laughing.

Poe nodded. "That's about accurate," he said, deadpanned.

"Oh, so you _finally_ admit it!" Karé beamed.

"You gonna wipe that up, Lieutenant?"

"Well given the subject matter, I was kinda hoping you were gonna _lick_ it up."

Poe stifled a snicker.

BB-8 wolf-whistled.

"Did he just—" Poe started, laughing. He turned to his droid. "I will shut you down!"

Everyone lost it.

If BB-8 had eyes, Poe swore they'd have said 'I dare you.' He shook his head, grinning. "You're too much, buddy."

Karé caught her breath. "Damn, if only Kit had seen that. He probably wouldn't be able to breathe right now!"

She smiled sadly, and everyone's laughter died down.

"He should be here," Palvo said slowly. "Not the same without him."

Poe nodded.

Suddenly the tent flaps burst open, and Jaren poked his head through. "Commander?" he said, winded. "You may want to see this."


	11. Recon

_Chapter 11: Recon_

For a moment, the Rapiers stared at the nervous Pathfinder, completely frozen.

"Quick," Jaren said urgently. "Before they come and knock the building down."

Poe was the first to stand, his face tightening with apprehension as the rest of his squadron filed out behind him and into the darkness. BB-8 rolled along beside him.

Jaren snuck through the rubble, leading his newfound friends through the remains of the base, to what used to be Command headquarters. The building was several stories tall, leaning against the other burned-out structures that lined the edge of the ruins. A thick line of trees rose up behind it.

"Nobody had had the guts to come check this place out," Jaren went on. "So I went in there, after the meeting was over. I'm not sure whether or not I'm glad I did."

The door – it's frame outlined with sporadic black burn marks – gaped open in front of them, cloaking its contents in obsidian.

"Watch your step," Jaren announced, stepping through the threshold. "And don't lean up against anything. You could bring the building down on top of us if you do."

Karé and Iolo exchanged nervous glances. Muran and Cage shifted uneasily.

Palvo blew out a quick breath. "After you, Commander," she mutedly said, holding out her hand.

Poe nodded, inexplicably shuddering as he passed through the entrance. Flecks of permacrete crunched under him, threatening to knock him off balance as they bit at the bottoms of his feet through the soles of his boots.

BB-8 turned on a bright light from the top of his dome, shining it around like a miniature searchlight. Melted remains of holo projectors skewed themselves across the room, and a few mangled bodies rested in the corner.

Poe squeezed his eyes shut. "They been identified?" he asked, motioning towards them.

Jaren nodded. "We're working on that." Nimbly, the Pathfinder edged across the uneven ground, carefully sinking to a knee next to one of the bodies. He sighed. "Officials of some kind. We'd have to get them out to really tell who they were. They're burned too badly."

Poe blew out a deep breath.

"But they hold a key piece of information, Commander. It wasn't the fire that killed them. It was something else. Something far more unsettling."

Poe's brow furrowed, and he crunched across the rubble, kneeling next to Jaren. As gingerly as he could, the Pathfinder pulled back the remains of what had once been a shirt, his experienced fingers stopping and pointing to a long, strange-looking puncture wound.

"That is _not_ from a blaster," Jaren reported.

Poe noticed the lieutenant colonel's hands were shaking. "Then what did it, then?"

"Officially, we're not sure yet. I've got to convince a few more higher-ups of the possibility. But that is – without a doubt – not a blaster wound." He paused, as if he were reflecting on the gravity of what he was about to say. "This is from a lightsaber."

Poe's eyes widened. "Are you certain?"

Jaren nodded. "Not big enough around to be a blaster; not torn up enough to be from a pike. The puncture itself isn't that wide around, and everything around it's cauterized. A blaster or a pike wound in that area would cause major bleeding. And there's not a drop here."

Poe froze. Part of him began to feel a little sick, and not because of the carnage in front of him. This – whatever it was – ran deeper than a simple spell of nausea would have. Chills ran up and down his spine, coiling in an unsettling ball between his shoulder blades.

"And there's something else here, too," Jaren said slowly, rising and motioning for the others to follow him. "Come on."

Wordlessly, Rapier's lieutenants edged across the rubble, heading towards what used to be a large, ceiling-to-floor window. Palvo hopped through the opening, Cage and Muran right behind her. Karé took a deep breath and followed. Iolo stopped and scanned his surroundings for a second, his special eyes stopping and zeroing in on something on the wall.

"What the hell…?" he whispered.

Karé's brow furrowed. "Iolo, what is it?"

The Keshian didn't even blink.

Karé turned to Jaren. "Go on without us, Colonel. We'll catch up."

Jaren nodded. "Be careful," he warned. "Move just right and this structure will come down on top of you."

Karé nodded, hopping back up over the old windowsill and coming up beside Iolo.

"What do you see?"

"More like, 'What does _Poe_ see?'"

Karé froze. "What?"

Iolo nodded in front of him. Karé turned in the direction he indicated, her brow furrowing as she watched her commanding officer, who steadily moved towards the damaged control panel in front of him.

"Poe?" she called.

"Hold on," he replied, his voice strained under the weight of his thinking.

BB-8's light shone up onto the wall, where a pattern of jagged burn marks – slash marks – jutted across the permacrete in a tangled, animalistic heap. With a shaking hand, he traced his fingers over the marks, the strange, warping humming sound that throbbed in his ears growing louder as he did.

Poe's foot tapped something buried in the rubble, the difference in the texture under his feet temporarily knocking him off-balance. He looked down, squinting into the darkness. His fingers wrapped around a long, frayed piece of heavy black fabric.

It was part of a cloak. It must have gotten caught as whatever – whoever – had made this particular attack made his escape.

He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth together, beating back the rising dread that threatened to freeze his heart. The marks, the wounds on the bodies, the black cloak, the inexplicable sense of fear—

"There was a Force-sensitive here."

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he found that the bite of the anxiety that was gnawing on him to be a good bit less sharp.

"Say that again?" Karé said, surprise bouncing through her voice.

Poe drew a deep breath.

"How do you know that?"

Poe steeled himself. "Look. These gashes in this control panel were from a lightsaber. So were the punctures on those bodies. And I found this."

He held out the fabric. Karé's brow furrowed.

"What…" she began.

"I don't know how important this is," Poe started, squeezing his prize between his palm and his fingers, "but the last time I checked, no one in the Republic Navy or Republic Command wears black. I don't think this came off of one of the victims, but from the attacker. And he came in here with a lightsaber. We already know that. The only people that we know of that use lightsabers these days are Jedi, and there aren't too many of them left, if any at all. None of the recent holograms on file back at base have them in black, either. It was always brown or grey. And from what I've been able to gather from what Mom told me about Luke, a Jedi wouldn't be this violent. They don't kill needlessly. But the other side of that coin _did_."

"What, are you thinking Sith Lord?" Karé asked slowly.

Poe shook his head. "No. The destruction of the second Death Star took care of that one. But there's nothing stopping something _like_ the Sith from rising up again."

He took a few pointed steps forward. "Pair that with the sudden surge in attacks on Republic bases, with the unrest in the Senate, with the enhancement of First Order forces that _everyone_ seems to ignore. Tell me it doesn't sound familiar."

Karé sat and thought for a second, her eyes suddenly bugging.

"Holy kriff," she breathed.

"What is it?" Jaren's voice echoed through the room. The Pathfinder's silhouette poked through the windowsill, drowning out a little bit of the moonlight that poured in as he came towards them. An uneasy Muran was right behind him.

Poe held out the fabric, placing it firmly in Jaren's hands. Astonished, the Pathfinder ran his fingers across the course, black material, his eyes widening as he did.

"Where did you find this?" he asked.

"Right under these," Poe replied, nodding towards the marks on the wall.

Jaren suddenly rushed forward, tracing his fingers over the marks. "That's—"

"Lightsaber," Poe said distantly. "All of this."

Jaren blew out a deep breath, holding his head in his hands. "All of a sudden I don't feel so good," he mumbled.

"Neither do I," Muran said faintly.

Poe's brow furrowed. "Where are Palvo and Cage?"

"Sent them ahead. A few of my guys are up there, looking for more leads. But this – this whole room – is a big one. Stuff like this doesn't usually give me the creeps, but this sure as hell does. I found those marks on those bodies and the hair on the back of my neck stood up." Jaren looked at Poe, wide-eyed. "I _don't_ like it."

Poe grimaced. "Neither do I."

"You get anything more in here?"

Poe shook his head.

Jaren nodded over his shoulder. "Then come with me."

Karé and Poe exchanged glances and started after him, growing queasier by the second. Iolo blew out a deep breath and followed.

Carefully the Rapiers stepped through the windowsill, the soles of their boots sighing with relief as they finally gripped even ground. Jaren led them a few hundred meters across the plain in front of them, stopping at a triangle of massive splotches in the grass that were flattened. He walked around the perimeter.

"Something landed here," he reported. "Something big. Not the right shape for a troop transport. Those tracks are farther down."

"There were enemy boots on the ground?" Karé asked.

Jaren slowly nodded. "We think so."

Iolo shook his head, turning and looking at Poe. "And Command's still passing this off as an accident?"

Poe nodded, his face darkening.

"Come closer," Jaren said. He knelt in the grass. "This is where the gangplank dropped." He moved to the back of the indention, to a wide streak of grass that was burned. "Engines were back here."

"That's too big a trail for a transport," Poe said quietly, his brow furrowing as he ran his fingers across the blackened ground. "Looks more like—" His eyes bugged. "Like an old Imp shuttle." He looked up at Karé and Iolo. "Get over here," he ordered.

Karé and Iolo ran over.

"Tell me I'm wrong. Please."

Karé shook her head. "You're not wrong."

"This was the getaway craft," Jaren said solemnly. "Dirty work got finished in that Command building and the culprit ran out here and flew till he saw lines. Tops of those trees are singed, and they're directly in the projected flight path."

"Which means he hit lightspeed before he cracked the goo," Karé added."Must've been in a hurry."

"That's what your friends thought. They're over there now, trying to get a better look."

Iolo turned to Poe. "They could use the help, Commander. Should we head over there?"

Poe nodded silently.

"They went this way," Jaren whispered, nodding towards the trees.

As his friends headed for the tree line, Poe's eyes drifted to the sky, picking Hosnian out from the black and sighing.

"Poe?" Karé called. "You alright back there?"

"Yeah," he replied, the breath in his voice strongly indicating otherwise.

Karé clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on," she reassured, taking a step towards the woods and ushering her friend along with her.

"I got a hold of Kit," she said, seemingly out of the blue. "Said Mila's let him get down to the flight line a little bit. He's not clear to fly yet, but that's coming. It's taking less time than they thought." She grinned. "So by the time we get back, we'll have him again." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Mila, too."

Poe smiled a little bit. "It's been killing me to be away from them," he said.

"I know," Karé went on. "We all know it. Believe me, we're ready to blow this rock, too." She rubbed his shoulder affectionately. "Hang in there, Commander. It's almost over."

Poe genuinely smiled.

Steadily, the trees grew up in front of them, looming over their heads like massive, hooded specters. The stars faded from view under the shroud of their heavy, twisted branches. In silence, the two Rapiers wound through the foliage, following the sounds of their friends' voices.

"Get a read on those marks yet, Palvo?" Karé called once they found them.

A soft clicking noise snapped in Poe's ears, and he jerked to a stop, his eyes widening.

"What—"

" _Shh_!" he hissed.

One of the trees shifted unnaturally, and everything suddenly went quiet. Iolo's large eyes snapped upwards, scanning their surroundings. The color drained from his face, his mouth opening in a quick gasp as he tried to bellow a warning.

He was cut off by blasterfire. Double-tap, which meant—

"Sniper!" he shouted, fumbling for his blaster rifle.

Someone groaned and collapsed the ground behind him.

"Kat!" Cage bellowed, horrified.

Palvo.

Iolo's eyes, however sharp, had been too late for her.


	12. Eight Hours

_Chapter 12: Eight Hours_

Everyone dropped to the ground in a panicked rush. Jaren hurriedly commed for a medic; Palvo fought for her life. A scope raised to his eye, Iolo combed the trees above them, his rifle humming in his hands as it zeroed in for the kill.

"You see him, Iolo?" Poe shouted, panic rubbing his voice raw. "Can you see him?"

Poe barely saw Iolo nod through the darkness, lying on the ground with Palvo gasping behind him. Cage lunged next to him, only to be grabbed and pulled forcibly back.

"Stay down!" Poe snapped. "I'm not losing two of you!"

He'd rather not lose either of them.

"Don't move, Kat!" Cage called, his voice echoing hollowly through the thicket.

Iolo's long finger coiled around the trigger like a snake about to bite. "I see you!" he lethally barked. "Fire again, and I'll put one between your eyes!"

The tree shifted, the rustle of its leaves the only response Iolo needed.

Poe held his breath.

Iolo fired.

"Damn it!" he cried. "I missed!"

Cage shot forward into the open before Poe could stop him.

"I hit the tree. Knocked him to the ground, but he's still out there!"

"Where, Iolo?" Cage replied, ripping his blaster from its holster.

Iolo nodded to his left, and Cage took off into the brush.

Palvo suddenly screamed, and Poe flew to her side, picking his friend up and cradling her in his arms.

"You're okay, Kat," he soothed, reaching behind her and taking her hair down, running his fingers through it like he'd seen Mila do with Kit. "I got you. Med's on their way. You're gonna be fine."

Palvo's shaking hand found her commanding officer's and grabbed it. Quick, raspy breaths broke through her lips.

"I'm right here, Kat," Poe said softly. "I'm not going anywhere. Hang on."

She'd been shot in the chest. He didn't bother to look at the wound.

"Medic!" Jaren suddenly thundered. Several pairs of boots pounded into the ground behind them, and the medics shot into view.

Poe caught himself starting to call for Mila, the realization that she wasn't there with him stinging like a hot iron to the skin.

A trickle of blood ran out the corner of Palvo's mouth. Her grey eyes drooped.

"Don't you clock out on me, Six!" Poe pleaded, panic stinging the back of his throat. "Come on; look at me. Eyes on me, Kat. Eyes on me."

With everything in her, Palvo kept her eyes open, silently – stubbornly – gazing back into Poe's. Poe smothered his rising anxiety with a reassuring smile.

"There you go," he said softly, massaging her scalp with the tips of his fingers. "See? Not so hard. Just keep on looking at me. They're almost here."

Fear wormed its way into Palvo's eyes, which were filling with tears. A few trickled down her cheeks. She trembled violently.

"I've got you," Poe repeated, pulling his friend a little closer for emphasis. "I'm not going anywhere."

Slowly, Palvo nodded. She took a shallow breath, trying to speak, but the words wouldn't come.

"Kat?" Poe asked.

Her eyes heavily closed, and her head sank into the crook of Poe's arm.

"Kat!"

The grasp of her hand relaxed. Poe gave her a good shake.

" _Kat!_ "

"Where is she, Colonel?" an icy voice cut through Poe's ears. He tensed.

Krell.

Jaren nodded in Poe's direction, and several people sank to their knees around him.

"Set her down," Krell ordered.

Poe complied, gently setting his friend down on the ground as a livid scowl hardened his face. Registering no hints of emotion, Krell bent forward, the side of her jaw hovering over Palvo's nose as she looked down the length of the wounded pilot's body.

"She's still breathing," she reported. "Sergeant Marge, Sergeant Forlin, get her back to base. Quickly!"

Darren and Wex hastily stepped forward, gently lifting Palvo onto a stretcher and running her away from the scene. The rest of the medics swiftly followed.

"Someone else comm Sundar," Krell ordered as she faded into the distance. "Make sure he and his men are prepared."

Another medic hurriedly talked into a comm, her voice shaking as she disappeared into the darkness. Poe's frown deepened as he stood, watching Palvo disappear into the distance. Karé came up beside him.

"Fight hard, Palvo!" she called. "Don't quit on us now!" Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Please."

The leaves rustled behind them – heavily crunched under a pair of struggling flight boots – and the two Rapiers whipped around. Cage stepped through the foliage, his lean arm wrapped around the neck of another wiry young man who was dressed in a black tactical vest. He cocked his blaster and pressed it against the sniper's temple.

"Let me shoot him," Cage growled. The sniper squirmed. " _Please_."

"No!" Jaren quickly reprimanded. "We need him alive. Take him to Command. They won't be able to deny us if we've got a POW sitting in front of them."

The sniper struggled more, Cage delivering a sharp blow to his solar plexus. He coughed and lurched forward over the pilot's arm, his hand landing overtop of a pocket on his belt. Quickly his fingers opened the flap and pulled out a small device, turning the round, silver head in front of him. He pressed it to his chest.

"Detonator!" Karé shrieked, her eyes wide. "Cage! Let him go! Drop!"

The sniper wrapped himself around the device. Cage stubbornly held his ground.

"Now!"

The detonator exploded.

* * *

Eight hours.

Eight agonizing hours spent outside a medical tent, eight hours spent with such sharp worry knotting in his stomach that Poe had thought he would vomit. Eight long, brutal hours waiting for any kind of word. Of hoping that someone would walk outside that medical tent and tell them that Palvo was alright, that they had done it, that they had saved her and that she was awake and talking.

They'd known Cage was gone the minute the detonator went off. Every Rapier present hoped beyond all hope that Palvo's story would end differently.

The tent flaps opened, and Krell stepped out, frowning as she pulled off a pair of bloodied latex gloves. Everyone scurried to their feet.

"We've got her cleaned up, if you want to see her," she said shortly, her cold voice completely unattached.

Karé's jaw dropped in an unbelieving smile. "She's awake?"

Krell shook her head. "I'm sorry."

The major wordlessly exited, turning on her heel and disappearing deeper into the ruins behind them. Karé and Iolo exchanged glances. Muran sighed heavy.

Poe felt like he'd just been slammed into by a freighter. Shock choked the breath from his lungs.

"Go on," he said, his voice barely audible. "If you want to see her, go."

Karé and Iolo hesitantly moved forwards, pulling back the corner of the tent. Iolo suddenly froze.

"No," he huffed, squeezing his oddly-colored eyes shut. "I can't. My last memory of her will _not_ be her dead body. I made that mistake once; I'm not making it again."

Poe nodded, clenching his teeth to keep the heat that rose behind his eyes in check.

"Somebody get a hold of Kit."

* * *

The sun was just beginning to rise as Kit's eyes fluttered open, his pupils adjusting to the new, golden light that engulfed the room. He sat up and stretched, grinning to himself as he looked out the window and saw his fighter.

His smile broadened. Soon, he'd be cleared to fly it. Soon, the rest of his squadron would be home, safe and sound.

Soon, this whole mess would be over, and everything would be back to normal.

The doors in front of him hissed open, and Mila stepped through, holding a paper bag that, to Kit, smelled like heaven.

"What did you do?" he asked, grinning.

"Brought you something," Mila replied, holding up the bag and setting it down next to him. "Try you out on something that's not hospital food and see how you do."

Kit reached in and pulled out a breakfast sandwich, taking the paper off and sighing with happiness as he took the first bite. Mila stifled a chuckle, her eyes shining.

"You hear anything from Poe yet?" Kit asked, his mouth still half-full.

Mila nodded. "Last night," she grinned. "Or… a few hours ago. Said everything was just fine. They might even get to come home early."

"What?!" Kit exclaimed, sitting forward as a huge smile stretched across his face. "Are you serious?!"

Mila beamed. "Sure am, bud. Apparently they're just twiddling their thumbs. Threat's been pretty much neutralized, from what the Pathfinders have been able to gather. My brother said they'll make one more sweep, which will take a few days, and they'll start packing up to come home."

"All of them?"

Mila nodded. "All of them."

Kit grinned. "That makes me happy," he said, his eyes shining as his face softened. "I bet you're about to jump out of your skin you're so excited."

Mila smiled at her toes, nodding.

"I know he is, too. Karé said he's losing his mind."

Mila laughed. "That makes two of us."

Kit opened his mouth to speak, but his beeping comm cut him short. He sat up and reached for it, rolling it into his hands with a small smile on his face.

"Anderon, here," he answered.

"Kit?"

Karé's voice was shaking.

Kit's brow furrowed. "Caraya's soul, Karé," he said, his voice laced with concern. "You okay?"

She sucked in a trembling sigh, and Kit knew she was shaking her head.

"Palvo and Cage are dead."

* * *

Getting ahold of Deso had been a challenge. Telling him what had happened had been even harder.

For a second, the major stared at Poe, his jaw slackening as the devastating news sank in.

"I'll be damned," he finally sighed.

Though the major's sympathy was unmistakable, Poe's eyes still bored into the floor, a deep frown carved into his face. Karé hung her head, nodding where she sat. Iolo sighed. Muran drummed his fingers on the top of his arm.

"Lieutenant Colonel Criss has already dispatched the entire battalion. They'll clean out that forest and the surrounding area. I want you all to offer air support long enough for them to fully spread out. But the second that last soldier goes under the trees, you make the jump to hyperspace."

No one spoke. Deso's fingers hurredily danced across a holopad, in such a way that the Rapiers knew he was revising orders.

"Rapier's main objective will not be to find fugitives," he finally said. "I want you to escort Lieutenant Palvo and Lieutenant Cage back to Hosnian."

Poe's brow furrowed. "We're going home?"

Deso nodded. "I've just told the tech to fuel up your fighters, Commander. As badly as we need you out here, I'm not going to hold you. I won't do that to you."

"That battalion's going to need all the help they can get—"

"But not at your expense, Poe. You need to go home. All of you." He came out from behind his desk and walked towards them. "Rest. Do whatever you need to do. No one here will hold it against you."

Poe stared at him blankly.

"As of today, Rapier has sustained the highest squadron casualty rate since the Galactic Civil War. You've lost over half your squadron in a little over a month. You need a break. So I'm giving one to you."

He handed out a form to Poe, whose brow furrowed when he read it.

"Two week's leave," Poe said mutedly, at a complete loss for words. Karé's jaw went slack. Muran and Iolo exchanged glances.

"When?" Karé asked, stunned.

"Day after the funeral, whenever it may be. And when you come back, I won't put you in the air right away. We'll work you back in slowly."

Poe shook his head. "I don't know what to say, sir."

"Then don't," Deso replied, gripping Poe's shoulder. "Go home. I'll see you all in a few weeks. You're dismissed."

Poe nodded, picking up his flight jacket and throwing it over his shoulders. The rest of his squadron silently shuffled out behind him.

Two weeks. Two weeks to sit back and do absolutely nothing. Poe hardly knew what to do with himself; his mind still reeled from shock and grief, which gnawed away at his conscience like an aggressive tumor. He and the rest of Rapier fought with everything in them to hold it together.

They trudged to a tent that functioned as a prep room by the flight line, everyone throwing themselves into the nearest available seat. Karé held her head in her hands.

"Why does this always have to happen to us?" she whimpered. "Every damn time we turn around…."

Her voice trailed off, and by the way it cracked, Poe could tell she was fighting not to cry. Heat rose to the backs of his eyes, but he furiously shoved it back.

He couldn't fall apart in front of his squadron. Not for the sake of his pride – he'd known them all long enough and they'd been through enough together for them to have seen him like that before – but for the sake of their morale. If he lost it, as badly as he may have wanted to just let it out and get it over with, the little bit of vigor they had left would shrivel up and die.

BB-8 nudged the side of Karé's leg, and she looked up and smiled at him. The little droid chirped sadly.

"I'll be alright, pal," Karé whispered as she reached down and touched the top of his domed head, finding comfort in the cool touch of metal under her hand.

BB-8 sighed, his head dropping towards the floor. He rolled over to his master, gently pressing up against him the same way he'd done with Karé. Poe managed a small smile.

"We're going home, buddy," he said quietly, fighting furiously to keep the tone of his voice even.

BB-8 rolled backwards in surprise. If he had eyes, they would have been round with excited shock. He beeped hurriedly, barraging his master with a series of eager questions.

Poe managed a chuckle in spite of himself. "As soon as we can get packed up and in the cockpit. Fighter's ready to go, but I'll need you to run down there and do some last-minute scans before we—"

The little droid shot off towards the flight line squealing before Poe could finish his sentence. Grief still sat heavily in his eyes, but a smile weakly shot across his face. Karé grinned, wiping under her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

"Looks like somebody's ready to get out of here," she said. She tried to smile – she even chuckled a little bit – but her voice still shook.

"I think we all are," Poe mused.

Karé nodded.

Poe took a deep breath, pulling back the tent flaps and looking up at the sky. A cool wind tossed his hair, freezing a tear that angrily leaked from the corner of his eye. A shaky sigh pushed through his lips, and a few more tears slipped out, unwarranted.

He wiped at his face with the back of his hand, furiously swallowing his grief with another deep breath. Boots pounded into the ground as the last of the Pathfinder battalion loaded up to make their attack, transports deftly rising into the air and disappearing into the sky. The soldiers moved past in wispy blurs of tan and white.

Poe hardly noticed they were there.

"Commander!" someone said.

Poe snapped out of his heavy reverie, looking across the makeshift flight line as Jaren steadily ran towards him.

"What's the word?" Jaren asked, catching his breath as he hauled his blaster rifle over one shoulder. "Do they know anything yet?"

Poe hung his head. "She's dead. We're taking her home."

Jaren gaped, his brow furrowing in a stricken knot. "Holy kriff." He shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you."

Poe nodded. "A lot of that going around."

Jaren blew out a long breath, resting his hands on his hips in an attempt to steady himself.

Poe's lips pursed into a hard frown, and he stared at the ground. "I still have to get a hold of their families. Last transmissions have already been sent, so they at least know. But—" he sighed, lifting his head back up. "You know how this stuff works. CO still has to send condolences."

Jaren nodded, gripping Poe's shoulder. "If you and your squad need anything, Commander," he said. "You just say the word. I'll do everything I can."

Poe managed a grateful smile. "Thanks, Colonel."

Jaren's comm beeped, and a transport dropped behind him. "I gotta run." He clapped Poe on the shoulder. "Hang in there."

The gangplank fell to the ground behind him, and Jaren sprinted up the ramp, ducking and joining the rest of his men as the transport took off. He heard the tent flaps open.

Karé solemnly stepped through in full flight gear, her helmet tucked under her arm and her old R4 unit sitting by her side. Iolo and Muran came out behind her, their astromechs following as BB-8 rolled up to Poe, pushing up against his calf reassuringly.

Karé silently held out Poe's helmet to him. "For Palvo and Cage," she said solemnly.

Poe nodded, taking the helmet in his hands and sprinting towards his fighter. Black flight gauntlets slid over his shaking hands as he woke his fighter up, the quad engines roaring to life with a new, hardened vigor. The canopy came down around him, and he pulled his helmet on. BB-8 popped up in the astromech socket behind him.

Poe tapped a few controls, wrapped his long fingers around the stick, and lifted off, his jaw clenching as he watched two lifeless X-wings shrink on the grass below him. He keyed in the comms, his voice dropping with the weight of possible impeding combat.

"Rapier Squadron, this is Rapier Leader. All wings, report in."

"Rapier Two, standing by."

"Rapier Three, standing by."

"Rapier Four, standing by."

A hollow gap screamed where Six and Eleven should have called in.

A knot twisted in Poe's stomach. He looked through the canopy at Hosnian, still glowing golden in the fading darkness.

He would be there in a matter of hours.

One more small patrol, and then—

A smile suddenly burst across his face.

A few more hours, and he'd see her again. Pull her into his arms, drink in her sweet scent, run his fingers through her soft brown hair, let the steady rise and fall of her chest calm his raging emotions. Her gentle eyes, her bright smile, her soft, reassuring voice – they would all be his to affectionately take in.

"One last pass, guys," he said, relief tingeing his voice as his smile broadened. "Then we fly till we see lines."

Though grief still viciously stung at his heart, it couldn't keep it from soaring.


	13. Finally Home

_Chapter 13: Finally Home_

Numb.

That was a good way to describe how she felt. As Karé softly directed her fighter through the atmosphere of Dantooine and out into realspace, she hardly had the motivation to breathe. Her R4 unit chirped behind her, its binary-speak tinged with concern.

"I'll be okay, R4," she said through the comms. She blew out a long sigh. "Just need to get home."

"It's your lucky day, then, Karé," Poe mused. Despite the hoarseness in his voice, Karé could tell he was smiling.

She breathed out a laugh, a strained grin splitting her face as she keyed in a few more controls and dropped a few degrees, coming in to fly at Poe's withdrawn starboard.

"Somebody wanna comm Kit?" Poe asked. "We can patch him across the whole squadron and talk to him on the way back. Kill some time; make sure he's okay."

"Already on it," Karé replied. Though her head still pounded from having sobbed the second her fighter took off, she was beaming. Her R4 unit patched her young friend through to the rest of the squadron before he even picked up.

"Anderon, here."

"Hey, baby face," Karé grinned.

"Karé!" Kit exclaimed. "Are you alright? How's everybody holding up?"

Karé smiled, the weight of grief that slogged on her shoulders releasing at the sound of Kit's voice.

"Doing as good as can be expected, buddy," Poe filled in. He blew out a deep breath. "It'll be damn good to be back."

"You're coming back?" Kit asked, overjoyed. "When do you leave?"

"Right now," Iolo said, relief tingeing his voice. "Cracked the goo about ten minutes ago. We'll be in hyperspace in a few."

None of the Rapiers could see him, but they all knew Kit was beaming.

"Deso gave us all leave," Iolo went on. "I know. Hard to believe, but he did it. Poe's got the document to prove it."

"Well timed, then!" Kit exclaimed.

"That's the idea, bud," Karé smiled. "After all the hell we've been through these past few weeks, he wanted to give us a little break. We should be back in a few hours."

"I'll be counting the seconds!" Kit assured. "I've missed you guys."

"We've missed you, too, pal," Poe said. BB-8 whistled behind him.

Kit laughed. "How's the little guy holding up?"

BB-8 chirped and sang, making grins burst across everyone's faces.

"That's good to hear, little buddy," Kit replied, a light chuckle lacing his voice. "You keep them all in good spirits until they get back, alright?"

BB-8 prattled on. Poe grinned.

"Okay, then. We'll do it together."

* * *

She'd gone over the same vital chart at least eighty times in the past hour, but she couldn't focus on it no matter how hard she tried. She thought she'd been worried about him before. Now, Mila found, it was almost unbearable. It weighed her down so much that she could hardly breathe. Every few seconds, she'd take a deep, heavy breath and blow it back out again, as if she were trying to expel the anxiety that sat around her heart.

A few of her coworkers had asked her if she was alright, and she'd answered them all with nothing but a hollow, weary smile. The good ones had probed her further, and she'd assured them that she was just tired, that everything was fine and that she was okay.

Of course she wasn't.

Word hadn't officially gotten out about the attack, so Mila thought it best to keep her mouth shut about it. Karé hadn't had the energy to explicitly tell them what happened when she'd commed in to deliver the news, so Mila mulled over the possibilities.

More than anything, she hoped it had been an accident, and that the words "shot down" and "First Order" were nowhere near the explanation.

Engines screamed overhead, flying so low that everything on the table in front of her vibrated. They slowed and died down, and from what Kit had taught her about different engine sounds, she knew that the group was coming in for a landing. She blew out another long sigh.

Part of her hoped it was Rapier, but they had only learned of the attack this morning. They still had to run a patrol, and she was sure there was a list of other things that had to be seen to before they could hit hyperspace. She frowned.

The sooner she could see him, the better. But it looked as if it would be later than sooner, at least as far as she had heard. Shaking her head, she went back to her work, forcing her preoccupied thoughts to the back of her mind. She drifted back into that anxious fog again, and she lost all semblance of time.

Suddenly her door hissed open.

"Lieutenant?" a young voice said.

Mila looked up, a little smile encompassing her face as one the almost-graduated med cadets stood in front of her. The girl shifted timidly.

She'd been that kid nine years prior, when she was still an Academy rat. She stood up, making herself as approachable as possible.

"Hey, Dina," she smiled. "What's up?"

"Could you come take a look at this scanner?" Dina asked, awkwardly tucking a piece of long blonde hair behind her ear. "I'm not sure what's wrong."

Mila nodded. "Of course. Where?"

"This way."

Though she knew the girl _looked_ nervous, there was something odd about the way the corners of Dina's lips trembled, the way her eyes shone. She was desperately trying to restrain a smile.

There was something she wasn't telling her.

Nevertheless, Mila followed her out.

"Over here," Dina directed, a huge grin bursting across her face.

Mila nodded, not looking up. "Alright," she said, her heart rate surging at the flick of interstellar orange that appeared in the corner of her eye. "Which one?"

She raised her eyes, and a relieved gasp tore through her lips. Her knees almost buckled out from under her.

"Poe!" she called, running and jumping into his arms and nearly knocking him over. She buried her face into his shoulder, and she could hear him chuckling.

He smelled like sweat and recycled air, but as far as she was concerned, it was the sweetest smell in the world.

Poe laughed outright. "You're shaking," he breathed, grinning as he gently set her down.

"You are, too!" Mila cried, laughing and wrapping her arms around him again. Suddenly, she pulled back, looking over her shoulder at Dina. "I _knew_ something was up!" she exclaimed, sighing loudly and leaning back into Poe with a huge grin on her face. She felt him kiss the side of her head, and she pulled herself closer to him, part of her fearing that if she let him go, he'd disappear.

Finally, she pulled back enough to see his face. "You look like you're still in one piece," she said, beaming as she combed her fingers through his hair. "Are you holding up okay? Do you need anything?"

Poe sighed. "Not at the moment," he said, smiling down at her. He gently took her face in his hands, leaning his forehead up against hers and breathing deeply. "Got everything I need right here."

Mila felt herself smiling, leaning into his embrace and completely losing herself. Her heart was pounding. She could hardly breathe. All semblance of time completely vanished; everything around her came to a happy, shrieking halt. She pulled back and looked up at him, and suddenly it seemed as if he was the only person in the room.

She wouldn't press him until he was ready, but Mila could tell he was holding a lot back, struggling under the weight of his grief. Exhaustion thoroughly wrought itself into his features, but the relief that seeped through Poe's eyes shone so brightly that it was nearly overshadowed. He became completely enveloped in it, in her, searching her eyes with a new fondness that only separation could have brought.

Neither of them could stop smiling.

"How'd I know I'd find you back here?" Karé's voice bounced off the walls as she shuffled into the room, beaming. Iolo and Muran came in right behind her.

"Hey!" Mila exclaimed, speeding over and giving each one of them a hug.

"Surprised?" Iolo asked, pulling back from his friend and grinning down at her.

"Little bit, yeah," Mila replied, the look on her face and the breathiness in her voice emphasizing the understatement.

Karé laughed. "It is _so_ good to be back," she sighed.

Mila beamed. "It's good to _have_ you back." Her eyes flicked behind Karé, and her smile broadened. "And while we're all busy surprising each other…" Her eyes lit up. "Turn around."

Karé looked over her shoulder and gasped, turning around and sprinting to the other side of the room. Her flight boots squeaked to a halt on the tile, and she cannoned into Kit.

"Oof!" Kit grinned, his laughter pealing across the room from behind the wall Karé had momentarily knocked him behind. "Hey, there!"

Poe's face lit up. "Oh, no," he beamed, making his way over with Iolo just behind him. "That who I think it is?"

Kit poked his head out from around the corner, a huge grin encompassing his face. Karé laughed.

"It is!" Poe exclaimed, briskly walking over and giving the lieutenant a hug. "How ya doin', buddy?"

Kit beamed, holding out a slip of paper. Poe took it between his fingers, his brow furrowing as he read it. His eyes widened, his jaw dropping as an ecstatic smile stretched across his face.

"Are you serious?" he asked, clearly unable to believe the news. He looked over Kit's shoulder at Mila. "He's clear?"

Mila nodded. "We discharged him this morning," she replied, a grin splitting her face as Karé nearly tackled her former patient to the ground.

There were hugs and laughter all around. Rapier's excitement was infectious. Mila found herself laughing from sheer joy as she watched them.

Kit turned back to Mila, grinning. He held out his arms and hugged her, still a little baffled that he was standing there to do it. For a second, he silently held the woman who saved his life, the realization that it was finally over hitting him dead between the eyes. He pulled back and smiled, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"I still don't know what to say," Kit said, blowing out a soft sigh. "I don't really think any of us do."

There was emotion in his voice, in his eyes, but Mila couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. Every time she'd successfully saved and discharged a patient, she always got that look, a gleam caught somewhere between shock and overwhelming gratitude. It never failed to make her heart swell.

"I couldn't be more proud of you, Kit," she smiled, nodding.

Kit grinned. "Thanks," he replied, suddenly feeling a little breathless. "When I go up tomorrow, you'll have to come out and watch. Maybe we could take you out on the line with us a little. Show you around. I mean, since you've discharged me, and your platoon and CO and everyone don't come back for another week or so…."

Mila's smile broadened.

"And besides," Kit went on. "I don't think any of these guys would mind seeing a little more of you."

Mila chuckled, nodding. "Just say the word, and I'll get down there."

Kit beamed, patting his commanding officer on the shoulder. "You're welcome."

Mila and Poe both laughed, and when they looked at each other again, Kit couldn't stop smiling. It'd been a while since he'd seen Poe, seen either of them, that happy, and it honestly made him giddy.

"You told your folks yet?" Karé asked.

Kit nodded. "Dad cheered. Mom cried. It was a good discussion."

Poe chuckled. "What about Aly?"

Kit suddenly beamed. "She nearly knocked me over when I told her. She started crying; I started crying. Neither of us could stop laughing." His whole face softened as he thought of his girlfriend. "Happiest I'd seen her in a real long time. Tore me up to see her so worried."

"So, it's been a pretty good day, then?"

Kit sighed. "As good as it could have been, given the circumstances."

Karé nodded, her face falling a little. "How're you holding up, bud?"

Kit shook his head. "I don't know. I just—" He paused, his shoulders slumping as he fumbled for the words. "I still don't believe it."

"Neither do we," Iolo said sullenly. He smiled sadly. "They'd be happy to see you're okay."

Kit nodded, his eyes dropping downheartedly. "I wish I could see them again."

For a moment they fell still, grief silently weighing on their shoulders. Mila's hand found Poe's, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Karé suddenly smiled. "You remember that time that Cage locked himself in that utility closet on Hoth and nobody could find him?"

"Oh, no," Mila chuckled. Grins burst across Poe and Iolo's faces. Muran laughed quietly to himself.

Kit snickered. "Yeah. We turned the flight line upside down looking for him. Palvo, Colsan, and I went to check the prep room again, and we heard this weird noise from under the stairs, where the closet was. She opened the door and he'd been leaning up against it, so he pretty much face-planted into the permacrete."

"And she gave him hell for it," Poe smiled, shaking his head. "So did Reaves, once he heard the story."

"But hey," Kit grinned. "Neither of them was going out on a tauntaun looking for him." He looked at Mila, suppressing laughter. "You should have seen Deso's face. It was _priceless_."

Grins burst across faces as the Rapiers chuckled. Mila smiled as she looked on.

Karé turned to Kit. "That was your first week out, wasn't it?"

Kit nodded. "Mine and Ordona's. He was... thrilled."

Iolo grinned. "What'd he call it? The Iceball of Death?"

"The Big Icy Ball of Suck," Karé amusedly corrected.

"That was it!" Iolo laughed, pointing at her as if the phrase were hanging in the air in front of her. "He had another one for Sullust, though I can't remember it." His smile softened, and his eyes shone pensively. "I miss him."

Poe's eyes dropped to his toes. "I miss him too," he sighed, a similar aura overcoming him as he spoke. "All of them."

Karé hung her head, nodding. The wisps of a wistful smile still pulled at Iolo's lips. Kit sighed; Muran blew out a deep breath.

Mila found herself at a loss for words, her thumb gently running across the top of Poe's as she held his hand. His face, though still weighed down by exhaustion and grief, visibly softened at Mila's touch, and she saw him relax a little bit.

"If any of you need anything," she said, "come and find me. I don't care if you have to wake me up in the middle of the night or keep me up all night. Come get me; I'll do everything I can."

Poe gave her hand a squeeze, smiling wearily down at her. The others mirrored his face.

"Now go get some rest. Relax. You need it. And seriously, come find me if you need me. I'm not far away."

"Thanks, Lieutenant," Karé whispered, stepping up and giving Mila a hug. "For everything."

Mila smiled at her, not really knowing what to say.

Karé and Rapier's other lieutenants slowly filed out, Kit wrapping an arm around Karé's shoulders and giving her an affectionate squeeze as they went. For a moment, Mila and Poe stood unmoving, their feet cemented to the floor and their fingers still interlocked.

"Feel like going for a walk?" Mila asked. "Stretch your legs a little bit?"

A soft smile tugged at Poe's lips, and he nodded. "Not ready to crash just yet."

Mila kissed the side of his face. "Come on," she whispered, leading him out of the room and onto their overlook. The sky was completely peppered with stars, and her eyes flicked towards Dantooine, glad that she didn't have to look to it to feel closer to the man that finally stood next to her.

Mila found a good stopping point and turned around, standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around him. She felt his head rest in the crook of her neck, and he sighed loudly.

"Man, I missed you," he murmured, pulling her closer. 

Mila rested into his arms, and Poe couldn't help but smile a little bit as he held her.

"I missed you, too," Mila whispered, the soft lilt of her voice calming him even further. Her fingers gently combed through his hair, and she felt him slowly sink into her embrace as the tension melted from his muscles.

Poe pulled back far enough to see Mila's face, and his hand rested on the side of her jaw, his thumb tenderly caressing her cheek and the top of her neck. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, the soft starts of a smile pulling at her lips at the gentleness of his touch. She found herself stepping closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he tightened his grip.

It had been so long, and she'd been so worried, but here he was with her now. Mila drew herself a little closer – finding all she wanted was to be close to him – and ran her fingers along the length of his jaw.

It was then, as she stood in his arms again, that she realized just how badly she had missed him. She desperately wanted to say something to him, but she couldn't find the words.

Her eyes met his, and her heart fluttered.

Mila's breath shortened, and she, inexplicably, began to feel a little shy. Poe cradled the back of her head in his hand, his long fingers weaving into her hair. A soft, reassuring smile encompassed his face. Coyly she returned it, her pulse quickening as he pulled her closer.

She'd never felt so safe – so strangely excited – in her life. Part of her was convinced she was dreaming, losing herself in the sweet ecstasy of his presence like a bird basking in the first light of the sun after a storm. Her lips parted a little, and her face completely softened.

He ran his index finger under her chin and lifted her into a long, soft kiss, smiling as she blissfully melted into him. 


	14. Two Folded Flags

_Chapter 14: Two Folded Flags_

Mila felt a smile flutter across her face, her heart having stuck itself somewhere between soaring and completely stopping altogether. For a moment after Poe pulled back, she rested her forehead on his, beaming up at him with enough brightness to put even the stars above them to shame. She ran her fingers through his hair – still not altogether convinced that he was really standing there and that she hadn't fallen asleep at her desk and dreamed the whole thing – and softly smiled, sighing from sheer bliss as he pulled her to his chest and held her close.

There was a silence, but a comfortable one. Mila listened to his heartbeat, the steadiness of its rhythm relaxing her muscles and putting her racing mind at ease. She felt Poe kiss her forehead, temporarily burying his face into her hair before resting his chin on the top of her head. She knew he was beaming.

"So," he said, a deep, gentle timbre resting in his voice that Mila wasn't sure she'd heard before. "What do we call this?"

Mila chuckled a little bit, resting her chin on Poe's chest and looking up at him with a grin. "What do you mean?"

"You know." A brilliant smile barged across his face. "You. Me. Us." He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. "Guess we need to figure that out, don't we?"

"Yeah, I guess we do." She smiled. "Got any ideas?"

Poe lightly shrugged. "I know what I want," he said, running his thumb down her jaw. "Without a shadow of a doubt, I know. But it's not just my decision."

"Taking it to a committee, then, Commander?"

Poe laughed, and his face softened. "A committee of one."

Mila's lips parted in a gentle smile, and she rolled her eyes up at him. "I'm all yours, flyboy," she said softly, her fingers tracing over the stubble on the side of his face. "And you can shout it to the rooftops, if you want."

"Couldn't keep my mouth shut if I tried," Poe grinned, kissing her forehead and pulling her closer.

Mila chortled. A smile eased across Poe's face as he massaged his fingers through her hair, his heart sinking a little as his dark eyes drifted across the flight line. Seven empty parking spots hotly glared at him, the blunt of his grief suddenly hitting him with the force of the butt of a blaster rifle to the face. He heaved a weighted sigh.

"You've pulled me through hell, Mila," he said, genuinely meaning every word. "I don't know if you know that. You've been a gift to me, one that I'm not entirely sure I deserve. I'd try to thank you, to tell you exactly how I feel about this whole thing—" a grin flashed across his face as he scoffed at himself "—but I don't think I'll ever be able to find the words."

Mila pulled him closer, not really sure what to say. She looked up at him and smiled reassuringly, standing on her tiptoes and kissing him tenderly. Her arms wrapping around his waist, she leaned into his embrace and closed her eyes. His grip tightened, and she felt him rest his chin on the top of her head.

These next few days were going to be hard on him, she knew, and she'd do whatever she had to in order to get him past them. It was – by no means – going to be easy, but she could have cared less.

If he had to walk through hell, then he sure as hell wouldn't do it alone.

* * *

"So what're they doing with their fighters? You just leave them there?"

Kit stared ahead of him at two empty spots on the permacrete, frowning silently as he traced his fingers over the top of the decals on his flight helmet. The morning sun warmed the flight line, dyeing the sky various shades of red and orange.

Poe drew out a long sigh. "Command's bringing them back with the Pathfinders," he said solemnly. "We'll use them for spare parts, should we need them." A wistful smile stretched across his face. "Think that's what Palvo and Cage would've wanted."

Kit nodded, suddenly lost for words. Since he'd received the news of the attack, he'd often found himself in that state. Things had fallen oddly quiet even in the liveliest of conversations, grief streaming its way in like a thick, invisible gas. It felt strange, especially to him, to not be able to talk, but words were stymied from his mouth nonetheless. The day itself felt heavy, even heavier than the one before it. Once he got through the funeral, Kit told himself, things would start looking up again. They had the last few times.

He ran a gangly hand through his dark brown hair and blew out a shaky breath. His new astromech whistled next to him, and though he still was in a fog, he felt himself smiling at the interjection.

"Give me a second, R5," he said, trying to force the sullenness from his voice and failing. "We'll load up in a second, I promise."

Quad engines thundered to life in front of him, loud and long and screaming.

"You coming, nerfherder?" Karé shouted as her canopy came down around her.

A quick grin split Kit's face, and his astromech chirped to him.

Kit nodded. "Be my guest, buddy."

The droid shot forward and vanished behind the T-85's landing gear, soon appearing in the astromech socket behind the cockpit. An eager smile bursting across his face, Kit pulled his flight gauntlets over his shaking hands and scaled the side of his fighter, too excited to drag the ladder over.

Kit tapped the controls and beamed as the fighter's engines revved. His old fighter seemed to scream at the top of its lungs, a long, even shriek. This one, he noted, held a different timbre. It wailed, low and loud, the frequency of the noise peaking up and down unevenly as if it were running out of patience, itching for a fight.

Kit's smile broadened even further. A few weeks beforehand, he swore he'd never hear that sound again.

The canopy snapped in place around him, and the control panel flickered to life under his fingertips. A trembling hand gripped the stick, and the fighter lifted off from the permacrete, falling into formation with her fellow Rapiers. The sun poured into the cockpit as he rose higher into the air, and Kit squinted as the light flooded in around him.

A voice cut across the comms:

"Rapier Squadron, this is Rapier Leader. All wings, report in."

"Rapier Two, standing by," Karé said.

"Rapier Three, standing by," Iolo came in after her.

"Rapier Four, standing by," Muran reported.

Kit grinned so wide it hurt. "Rapier Five," he said, his voice shaking with excitement. "Standing by."

The squadron collectively chuckled. Karé softly cheered.

" _Man_ , it is good to hear you say that," Poe said, beaming. BB-8 whistled in agreement.

"Good to say it again and mean it, sir," Kit replied. "Been too damn long."

"Agreed," Karé cut in. "Too quiet without you up here. Gotta have somebody I can drive crazy who won't demote me for it."

Kit laughed. Poe scoffed, grinning.

The fighters slowed down, and Kit shot ahead of them, his brow furrowing.

"Coming?" he asked.

Poe shook his head, his face lighting up. "Go on ahead, bud," he said. "About time you introduced yourself to your new girl."

The air behind Kit's engines rippled as he accelerated, his fighter pulling forward towards an orange horizon. A wide grin shot across his face.

"Alright, guys," he said, his hands and voice shaking from excitement. "Let's see what this baby can do."

The X-wing's engines growled, and the fighter shot forwards, rocketing into the sky at attack speed and barrel rolling. Kit suddenly cut hard to starboard, his surprised laugh bouncing through the comms.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, breathless.

A grin cracked across Karé's face. "Responsive, isn't she?"

Kit sighed loudly, and Karé could tell he was beaming. "Hardly had to touch her!"

"Wait till you let those cannons loose," Iolo replied, smiling. "She'll give anything coming at you a _really_ bad day."

Kit chuckled. "Next stop, then," he said, doubling back around and shooting over the rest of the squadron. "You guys coming or what?"

Four sets of quad engines roared in response, the wail of Kit's engines filling out their sound like the missing note in a chord. Falling into attack formation, the fighters charged towards the range, obliterating anything and everything they could see with a percussive _zap-zap-zap-zap, zap-zap-zap-zap, boom._

"Holy kriff!" Kit shouted, breathless. "She _does_ get angry!"

Iolo laughed. Even Muran was chuckling.

"Couple more passes, then?" Poe replied, grinning at his young friend's excitement as they came back around. "Pile of scrap down there that didn't get hit." He smirked. "And I bet I can beat you to it."

Kit chuckled. "You're on, Commander," he replied. "Don't be _too_ disappointed when I get there first."

His fighter surged forwards, rocketing towards the range at an ungodly speed. He keyed in his scope, aimed at a pile of scrap metal, and went to pull the trigger. A streak of black and orange shot through his peripheral, and the pile went up in smoke before he could get to it.

"Damn it!" he cried, laughing. "How the hell'd you do that?"

"He's Poe," Karé chuckled. " _That's_ how."

Poe shrugged. "I do try."

Kit scoffed and shook his head, smiling. "Alright then, Commander," he started, a wicked grin stretching across his face. "If you try so hard, go outshoot Iolo."

"Yeah, wait till _you_ can outshoot _me_ , bud," Poe shot back. "Then we'll talk."

Everyone laughed.

"What? You chickening out?"

"No…."

Iolo chuckled. "Sure sounds like it."

Poe scoffed.

"We really doing this, Commander?" Iolo asked, his tone of voice giving away the massive grin that stretched across his face.

No one said anything. Iolo smirked.

"Good answer. Save yourself the humiliation."

BB-8 chortled.

Poe's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh, so it's like that, then?"

"Afraid so, sir."

A deep chuckle went out over the comms, one that every member of Rapier Squadron knew meant "Try me."

"Uh-oh," Kit grinned.

"You're gonna get creamed," Karé chuckled.

"Yeah I am," Poe grunted, banking hard to port and coming back in for another pass. Iolo was right behind him.

"Be glad your girlfriend's not watching," the Keshian joked.

Poe laughed out loud, accelerating and grinning triumphantly as Iolo's fighter lagged behind him. His scopes zeroed in on the scrap pile, and a long finger wrapped around the trigger. For a second, it looked like he'd do it.

"Spoke too soon, Iolo," he grinned.

A pair of proton torpedoes howled past him, slamming into his target with a loud bang.

"Or not," Iolo shot back, grinning victoriously.

Poe groaned, shaking his head and laughing. "Damn it! I _had_ it!"

"Good shot," Karé exclaimed.

Iolo shrugged. "I do try," he mimicked.

Kit laughed out loud, sighing as he caught his breath. A wistful smile slipped across his face.

"Palvo and Cage would've gotten a kick out of that," he said, nostalgia lacing his voice and setting in his big brown eyes.

Iolo nodded. "Yeah," he concurred, looking towards the flight line with a dampened gleam in his eye. "They would have." He pursed his lips together and bowed his head, sighing. "Wish they could've seen it."

Poe hummed in agreement, his face falling. "Fall in," he said, his voice sullen as his fighter gently turned around. "Get back to base, get cleaned up." Despite the lump that formed in his throat, he felt a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "If Six and Eleven are making the final jump, we're giving them one hell of a send-off."

* * *

Decked out in her dress greens, Karé solemnly cut across the grass, her long blonde hair swept back behind her in a neat bun. A cool wind brushed up against her face, making her shiver. She'd come down alone – Poe had asked them to meet him down there before the services so they could say their true goodbyes without a crowd and holocams pressing in around them – and when she looked up, she realized she was still by herself.

Smiling ruefully, Karé stopped between the caskets, laying a hand on each and nodding a little.

"Hey, you two," she whispered, heat rising to the backs of her eyes.

She would have said more – she wanted to say more – but she couldn't find the words. Standing in silence, she bowed her head, her fingers gripping the sides of the caskets as if she were laying a hand on Palvo and Cage's shoulders.

"Give me something," she said, her voice beginning to shake. "You'd know just what to say right now. You always did."

Her jaw clenched, and she forced back tears. Someone softly padded through the grass behind her, though she hardly noticed until she felt a strong hand on her shoulder.

Without even looking at him, she turned around, throwing her arms around Kit's neck and sighing. The two friends silently held each other, both at a loss for words. A few tears leaked down Karé's cheeks, and she tensed.

"It's alright," Kit softly said. "I've got you. Do what you need to do."

Karé shook her head, pulling back. "Not here," she whispered, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "I…."

She sighed, shaking her head and putting her hands on her hips to steady herself. "Made Cage a bet that if he ever saw me cry, I'd wind up doing engine maintenance for him for a month." She laughed a little bit. "Think I'm about to let him win?"

Kit chuckled and shook his head. "Not a chance," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "But if you broke down now, he wouldn't hold it against you. Neither would I, if I were him."

Karé smiled.

"I'm here if you need me. Always will be."

Karé's eyes flicked to the caskets beside her. "You better be," she said pointedly.

Kit smiled reassuringly. "I will be, Karé," he said, putting his arm around her and giving her shoulders a squeeze. "Promise."

A few silhouettes darkened the horizon in front of them, and Iolo and Muran stepped into view. The Keshian offered a rueful smile, putting a long-fingered hand on each of their shoulders.

"You holding up okay?" he asked.

Karé sighed. Kit looked at the ground and said nothing.

A few tears slid down Karé's face, and Iolo pulled her to him. His oddly colored eyes glanced at the caskets, and he clenched his jaw.

"I know," he said softly, rubbing her back. "Dumb question."

Despite herself, Karé laughed a little. "Well intentioned, though. I think I'll let it slide."

She pulled back and looked at Muran, wordlessly walking up to him and wrapping her arms around him. He pulled back and nodded to her, rubbing her arm reassuringly.

"Where's Poe?" Muran asked, looking around.

Karé shrugged. "Hasn't made it down yet." She craned her neck. "Wait. Here he comes."

The commander offered a small smile in greeting, silently coming up around his comrades.

"How is everybody?" he solemnly asked.

Kit sighed. "Hanging in there," he said. "You?"

Poe nodded. "Trying to."

Karé put a hand on his shoulder, stepping up to her old friend and giving him a hug. He blew out a loud sigh and released her, trying to smile.

Karé looked over his shoulder, and she suddenly grinned.

"What is it?" Poe asked.

He felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and he turned around to find his girlfriend gently smiling up at him. She had on her dress greens, and her brown hair was pulled back in a twist at the back of her head.

Without saying anything, she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

"Hey, flyboy," she whispered.

They both fell silent.

Finally Mila pulled back, resting a small hand on his arm. "You holding up alright?"

Poe nodded. "As well as I can. How'd you know we'd be down here?"

Mila smiled. "You've got good friends. That's how."

Grins simultaneously stretched across four faces.

"Figured you could use a pick-me-up," Karé said, patting his back.

Poe genuinely smiled, and that was the only semblance of a "thank you" that she needed.

Karé turned to Kit and smiled. "Brought a little something for you, too, bud," she said, nodding towards the other side of the green and chuckling when his face lit up.

The young pilot took a few long-stridden steps between seats, catching a girl roughly his age up in his arms and beaming. She buried her face into his shoulder, holding onto him for dear life.

"Are you okay?" she asked, pulling back and putting her little, fair-skinned hands on Kit's shoulders.

"I will be," he said, smiling reassuringly at her. Grabbing her hand, he led her over to the rest of the squadron, a big grin plastered on his face.

"You're welcome, nerfherder," Karé laughed. She turned to the girl and gave her a quick hug. "Hey, Aly. How've you been?"

Aly blew out a little sigh, tucking a piece of platinum blonde hair behind her ear. "It's been a crazy few weeks. I'll be glad when it's over."

Karé nodded. "Heard that."

Aly took a few steps towards the caskets, her small shoulders sagging. "I'd say I'm sorry," she said. "But I know how empty that must sound to you all right now."

Poe managed a smile. "Not coming from you, Aly. We know you mean it."

Aly grinned. "Thanks, Commander." She looked over Poe's shoulder at Mila, and her brow furrowed. "I don't think we've met," she said, coming over to her and extending her hand. "Aly Lin-Sarlin. Kit's my boyfriend."

Mila smiled and shook her hand. "Lieutenant Mila Criss."

Aly's jaw dropped a little bit, and she softly gasped. Wordlessly, she threw her arms around the lieutenant, who grinned and returned her embrace.

"Thank you," Aly said, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what I'd do without him."

Mila pulled back and nodded, once again not knowing how to respond. She smiled modestly.

Poe grinned. "Neither do we."

Voices bounced amongst the buildings the green was nestled between, the obvious sounds of a moving crowd growing closer to their ears. Iolo let out a long breath.

"You ready?" he asked, looking at Poe.

The commander sighed. "Have I ever been?"

Iolo hung his head, taking his old friend's point as a few hundred unfamiliar people filled in the vacant seats behind him.

"We should probably go ahead and sit down," Poe said, steeling himself. "They'll be bringing the families in soon."

Though his body stood with the sharp erectness of a soldier's – his face placidly solemn – Mila heard his heart drop to his toes through his voice. Her small hand found his, giving it a reassuring squeeze as they sat down. Looking up at the sky, he blew out a shaky breath, the weight of what he was about to do suddenly crashing onto his shoulders as they sagged.

A gentle hand rubbed his arm, sliding across his back as Mila wrapped her arm around him and laid her head on his shoulder. He bent and kissed her forehead, catching the light scent of her perfume and smiling a little in spite of himself.

Mila desperately wanted to say something to him, but she arrived at a complete loss for words. The sounds of the crowd grew steadily louder, though she could tell Poe couldn't hear them. He stared blankly at the ground, lost in the heavy trance of his grief as he solemnly steeled himself for what was to come.

Mila's grip tightened, and Poe heaved a sigh. After a few minutes, she felt him move to stand up, Karé lifelessly following him as he went to address the crowd. Exhaustion sat heavily in his voice as he spoke, his entire façade buckling under the weight of it. Mila noticed there were bags under his eyes.

Karé handed two folded flags to two devastated families, offering them each one final, fervent salute before she fell in between Poe and Kit. Two gun salutes banged off behind them, thundering hollowly through Mila's chest as she stared somberly ahead. She heard X-wings scream overhead, flying two missing man formations as they disappeared into the morning light.

Mila's eyes found Poe's, and she gave him a reassuring smile. The scowl that had hardened his face softened, and she saw the tension in his shoulders ebb.

Once everyone started talking after the service was over, Mila walked right up to him and pulled him into her arms. Poe sighed forcefully, as if he were trying to expel the callous grief that had settled in around his heart. Silently she held him, once again pining after something to say and coming up short.

But in a space so full of dull, droning, noise – of haphazard, seemingly hollow condolences that stung a little more every time he heard them – that little bit of silence was exactly what he needed.


	15. Dameron's Girl

_Chapter 15: Dameron's Girl_

Mila had long since changed out of her dress uniform and into a white tank top and the bottom half of her fatigues. Poe's flight jacket sat on her shoulders as she leaned up against his bedroom window, watching the last of the day's light fade from the sky. Her face molded into a soft frown, she took a deep breath, laying her head on the windowsill as exhaustion suddenly ravaged her body.

It had been a long day.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist, and she reclined into them, resting the back of her head on Poe's shoulder as her small hand slipped over his. Her thumb ghosted across his knuckles, and he kissed the side of her face.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice soft.

Mila craned her neck to look at him, and she smiled. "Just tired," she replied, sighing. "Been a long day."

Poe nodded, humming empathetically. "Heard that."

Mila's fingers intertwined with his, and they held each other in silence for a little while, looking out the window. The sun disappeared behind the horizon as the last bit of purple daylight gave way to the darkness of night. Stars and star systems came out of hiding, shining brilliantly against a black sky.

Poe's eyes fell across Dantooine. He pulled Mila a little closer, sighing as he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

"Starting to catch up with you?" she asked softly.

She felt him nod, and she turned around in his arms, gently taking his face in her hands and looking into his tired eyes. He returned her gaze, tucking a piece of long brown hair behind her ear as a grin suddenly barged across his face.

"You told anyone yet?" he said.

"Told anyone what, babe?"

Poe leaned in and quickly kissed her. "That I can do that and get away with it."

Mila laughed. "Haven't had the chance to," she replied. She smiled brightly. "My family might not believe me."

Poe's grin widened, and he raised his eyebrows amusedly. "How come?"

"You're _you_ , Poe. I don't think there's a sentient being in the galaxy that doesn't know your name."

Poe laughed out loud.

"I'm serious!" she exclaimed. Her face softened. "If I'm honest, I'm still pinching myself."

"You're not the only one," Poe replied, kissing the top of her nose.

Mila beamed, resting her head on Poe's shoulder as he pulled her to him again, weaving his long fingers into her hair.

"No really," Mila went on. "My mom will be beside herself."

"Why's that?"

Mila pulled back, looking up at him and smiling brightly. "You wanna hear something embarrassing? It's really funny, but it's really embarrassing."

Poe grinned, raising an eyebrow at her as he sat down on the foot of his bed. "I'm listening."

"So," Mila started, sitting down next to him and trying not to laugh. "When I was a little girl, I had the _biggest_ crush on General Antilles."

Poe's smile widened, and he chuckled. "That's adorable."

"No, no. It… it was _bad_. I had our wedding planned out and everything."

Poe laughed. "Oh, man." He paused, his brow furrowing as a grin slipped across his face. "You're blushing."

"I told you it was embarrassing!" Mila sniggered. " _Especially_ considering that I kind of work for him now. But…." Her voice softened, and she chuckled. "Ever since then, my mom has sworn up and down that I was going to marry a pilot. You know, some big, hotshot Republic ace who could shoot down three TIE fighters blindfolded."

Poe scoffed, grinning. "I'll get to work on that."

Mila smirked. "You know what's funny?"

"What?"

"I'd never dated any of you flyboys until I ran into you. Not even so much as met one. So when she finds out…" She snickered. "It will be priceless."

Poe shrugged. "I seem to have that effect on people."

Mila rolled her eyes, lightly groaning as a smile shot across her face. Poe chuckled as he playfully nudged her with his shoulder.

"So you've had others before me?"

Mila nodded. "A few, here and there. There was a mechanic, a couple of med students back in the day, a Pathfinder, a Senate Apprentice Legislator—"

"Are you serious?"

Mila cringed. "I am."

A grin shot across Poe's face, and he started chuckling.

"Oh, come on," Mila tried to defend herself, an exasperated smile stretching across her face as she fought to keep from laughing. "He had pretty eyes."

Poe cocked an eyebrow at her, his laughter growing a little louder.

"I was fifteen!"

He only laughed harder.

" _Stop!_ " Mila half-laughed, half-whined, lightly backhanding him in the chest.

Poe guffawed, diving out of the way and farther back onto his bed. Unable to fight it any longer, Mila bent over giggling, partially at herself and partially at her boyfriend, who was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes.

Poe sat up a little, grinning at her and patting the mattress next to him. "C'mere," he said, holding out an arm for Mila to crawl underneath. Still softly laughing, she curled up beside him and rested her head on his chest. A smile slipped across Poe's face as he draped his arm around her slim shoulders, kissing the top of her head and taking her hand in his. His thumb gently ran across the tops of her knuckles.

They laid there in silence for a moment, Mila dozing as she listened to Poe's heartbeat. She grew so quiet and so still that Poe thought she had fallen asleep. Smiling to himself, he drew her a little closer to his side, gently brushing a piece of hair out of her face.

"You know," she suddenly said, a little bit of mischief tingeing her tired voice. "You never did tell me about the Aleena Tavik incident."

Poe's eyes bugged, and he laughed nervously. "Later," he said hastily. "It's late. You're tired. You need sleep."

Mila groggily chortled, craning her neck to look up at him. "I'll hold you to it, flyboy," she whispered with a sleepy smile.

Poe leaned down and kissed her, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.

Mila yawned as she melted into him. "One of these days—"

"Good night, sweetheart," he chuckled.

* * *

Daybreak – when she was awake to see it – had always been one of Mila's favorite times of day. Painted with strokes of deep red and orange and pink, the sky slowly glowed to life, casting a deep, golden light across the flight line as she walked across it. A cool breeze lightly tossed her hair as it bounced out behind her in time with her stride. Rapier walked on several paces ahead, and a smile slipped across her face as she watched them effervescently carry on.

Two weeks. Two weeks to lay back, to breathe, to rest. To not have a care in the world. They needed it so badly – they deserved it more than anyone she could think of – and after the hell they had been through, they finally, _finally_ had it. It was a relief to see Poe smiling – really, truly smiling – again, and as she followed him to his fighter, she knew there was no other place she would rather be. X-wing silhouettes steadily rose up in front of her, streaks of red or blue on a base of silver peaking through the shadows as Mila came closer. She stood back for a moment, looking back and forth between fighters as the squadron checked them over.

Poe stopped next to his and laid his hand on the X-wing's side, the familiar cool of the metal under his palm bringing a small smile to his face. His fingers glided across the durasteel, clearly having memorized every last dent and scar, every ding in the paint, every curve in the metal. Mila stood a few feet behind him, quietly watching as he greeted his old friend. BB-8 rolled along behind him, running scans and prattling.

"She sleep well?" Poe asked, grinning down at his droid.

BB-8 beeped, his little head bobbing up and down in the closest thing he could get to a nod.

Poe smiled. "Good." He turned and looked over his shoulder at Mila. "C'mere," he said, waving her over. "'Bout time you two got acquainted."

Mila's hazel eyes brightened as she came up alongside Poe. She softly laid a hand on the durasteel and looked up towards the cockpit, her lips parting thoughtfully.

"She's gotten me through a lot," Poe said. "Saved my life more times than I can count."

Mila smiled at him. "We both owe her a lot, then," she replied, patting the X-wing's hull. Her brow furrowed a little bit, the grin on her face widening. "She's bigger than I thought she'd be."

Poe chuckled a little. "Said the same thing the first time I went up in one." He climbed up a few rungs on the ladder, pausing halfway up and motioning for Mila to follow him. With the balance of a loth-cat on a tree branch, he stepped out onto the X-wing's nose, sitting down with his legs dangling over the side. "C'mere," he said, grinning at his girl and patting the durasteel next to him. "Good spot to watch the sunrise."

Mila smiled, making her way across the X-wing's nose and sitting down next to him with a happy sigh. The wind tossed her hair back behind her. She looked down past her toes, trying to assess how high up she was. Her eyes moving towards the sky, she watched several large clouds float by, the white cast pink by the rising sun.

"Every morning look like this for you?" she asked.

Poe nodded, pulling a piece of fruit from his pocket and cutting it up. "Just about," he replied, handing her a piece. A grin flashed across his face. "Though I can think of a few things that're making it better than most."

Mila smiled. "You're sweet," she said, wrapping her arms around his arm and putting her head on his shoulder.

Poe beamed, finishing off the rest of the fruit and looking around him as the rest of the flight line slowly came to life. He sighed contentedly. "Two weeks of this, Mil. I got two weeks to kick back, watch my squad, and not worry about a thing. And you know what? It feels pretty damn good."

Mila's grip tightened on his arm, and she found herself smiling again. "I know it does," she said, rubbing his back. "You had me worried, babe. You all did."

Poe nodded, hanging his head a little. "We'll get through it," he replied, his voice as stalwart as ever. "Worst of it's already past. Now… we just keep on doing what we're doing. Looking after each other; driving each other crazy." A little smile crept across his face. "That's what they would want. Done it before. We'll do it again." He nudged her gently. "Having you around doesn't hurt, either."

Mila chuckled, leaning into him again. "Wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Poe smiled at her, draping his arm around her shoulders as his dark eyes watched the flight line in front of him. The growing sunlight flashed against Karé's plated blonde hair as she got to work on her fighter, checking the repulsors with her old R4 unit by her side. Iolo ran a few quick checks on his fighter's cannons; Muran quietly looked over his engines and made sure that everything was where it was supposed to be. Kit kneeled at the base of his fighter, running his hands along its landing gear as his new astromech executed integrity scans over the T-85's ventral hull. A smile eased across Poe's face as he watched them.

"Wonder if Kit brought his holo-imager with him?"

Mila sat up a little bit. "Didn't know he had one."

Poe nodded, grinning. "He's kept a holo log of just about every place we've been to." His eyes shone pensively. "We found an old one of Palvo the other night when we got back, from when we were on Hoth. She'd left her helmet in the cockpit of her fighter overnight on accident, and she came back in the morning to find the visor completely frosted over. It looked pretty funny, so she ran and grabbed Kit so he could get a shot of it on her head before it all melted." He softly smiled. "Big, toothy grin, thumbs-up, Cage looking at her sidelong like she was insane." He laughed, shaking his head. "Classic Six and Eleven. They did that kind of thing all the time."

"So they were pretty tight?"

"More than that," Karé's voice bounced up towards them from the permacrete. "You might wanna come down soon, Poe," she added with a smile. "Your droid's about to bust a gasket. Ready to get to work."

BB-8 warbled from somewhere below them. Poe chuckled.

"Hang on, buddy," he replied. "We'll be right down."

"But yeah," Karé went on, amused as Poe landed on the permacrete next to her. "Cage was head-over-heels for her from the second he first saw her." She snickered. "Poor guy looked like he'd run smack into a brick wall whenever she came in the room."

Mila laughed, taking Poe's hand and hopping down herself. "That's pretty bad."

"Oh, yeah. Took him four months to actually work up the courage to talk to her. And once he finally did, it was… less than graceful." She chuckled. "Reaves gave him _hell_ for it."

"So did you, Two," Poe scoffed, smiling as he picked up a wrench and walked around to the back of his fighter.

Karé shrugged. "May have mentioned it once or twice."

Mila snickered.

"Palvo'd never admit to it, but she loved every last second with him. She absolutely adored him. They were inseparable." She shook her head, the braids in her hair catching the morning sun as her dark eyes softened wistfully. "Nothing official ever came out of it, but if they were still alive…."

A brilliant smile barged across Karé's face, finishing her sentence for her.

Mila couldn't help but grin. "You think so?" she asked.

"Oh, I _know_ so. They'd have been one of the greats, had they lived to see it through. Right up there with you and Poe. They were practically made for each other. It would have been perfect."

Mila smiled pensively, looking up into the morning sky. "Wish I'd have known them better."

Karé nodded in silent agreement, her eyes downcast. Her brow furrowed. "You heard anything from your brother yet?"

"Not yet," Mila sighed. "Last time I talked to him was the day before you all got back. Since then… nothing." Though she tried to hide it, a bit of worry shone in her eyes. "I imagine he's pretty busy."

"Any day now," Karé reassured. "We all had about a week left when everything went to hell. They'll be home soon."

Mila nodded.

"Feel free to look around," Karé said, suddenly smiling as she gestured around her. "Lot to take in."

"Hey Karé!" Kit suddenly called. "Could you give me a hand?"

"Yeah; I'll be right over!" she replied, backing up a few steps.

"Quickly would be good. Don't know how much longer I can hold onto this!"

"Oh, boy." Karé cringed. "I gotta go. Catch you later." She turned around and jogged across the line, lying down next to Kit and reaching up to hold a few panels in place as he and his droid tinkered with the wires inside.

Ducking under Poe's X-wing's nose and walking past the other fighters, Mila took a few minutes to look around. The sun finally appeared above the horizon, darkening the frames of the few fighters that were already in the air. Her eyes landed on a troop transport, one that's repulsors had been almost completely taken apart. A few astromechs whistled around the site, scrambling for tools or running scans.

From underneath the landing gear, the mechanic slid out on his back, crawling backwards on the heels of his hands as he came out. The light hit his face – shone on his dark brown hair, fair skin, and large brown eyes – and Mila felt her jaw go slack. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again, testing to see if she was imagining things as she steadily came closer.

She wasn't.

"You about done with that?" she called, making her way over to where her older brother was sprawled on the permacrete.

Damien's brow furrowed as he looked over his shoulder. "Mila?" he asked, a huge smile bolting across his face as he scrambled to his feet.

"Hey, laser brain," Mila greeted, throwing her arms around his neck as he laughed in surprise. She pulled back and gave him a little shove. "Kriff head!" she exclaimed, mock anger lacing her voice. "Been gone for almost two years and you don't bother to tell me you were coming home?"

Damien smiled, holding his hands up in defense. "I was going to surprise you in the med bay once I got this old thing patched up, but… looks like you beat me to the chase." He paused. "But this is the last place I thought I'd find you. What're you doing out here?"

Mila nodded over her shoulder. "I got friends and nothing to do, so I came out here with them. Been meaning to show me around for a while now, just… they were never on-world to do it."

"Ah," Damien nodded. "Gotcha." He watched the squadron for a minute, his eyes growing a bit round as surprised recognition sank in yet again. "Holy kriff. That's… is that—"

"Damien!" a voice called, followed by a blur of interstellar orange that nearly knocked the mechanic to the ground.

Damien laughed, clapping his assailant – the youngest of his siblings – on the back. "How've you been, Calo? Graduate yet?"

"When did you get back?!" Calo asked, pulling back and gripping his brother's shoulders as if he were trying to make sure he was real. A wide smile encompassed his face. "You okay? How was Sullust?"

Damien chuckled. "It was Sullust," he replied. "Spent the last two or three months with my back to a wall, twiddling my thumbs. Sky was dead. Nobody was taking off because there were no patrols to run. Fighters were just burning fuel up there. It was… weird. Guavians usually like to hang out in that sector, along that trade route, but they just… disappeared. It's dead quiet over there."

"Someone's otherwise acquired their services," Mila added bluntly. "Someone who could pay through the nose for them." _And I bet I could guess who_.

"Or we just ran them off," Calo suggested with a shrug. "Rapier Squadron got set on them several months back. That would've done the trick. They can beat anybody."

Mila smiled sadly, not really sure how to respond.

"Heard they've taken a beating recently," Damien said. "Five out of twelve, dead. That true?"

Mila sighed. "Seven, as of a few days ago."

Damien shook his head, speechless.

"It was almost eight. Lieutenant Anderon was in critical condition for a few weeks."

"Caraya's soul," Calo murmured, brow furrowing. "Is he okay?"

Mila smiled. "Right as rain. We discharged him a few days ago."

"Wait. _We_?"

Mila nodded.

Calo's face lit up with surprise. "You had a _Rapier_ in your ward?"

Mila grinned. "I was his doctor, Calo. I told you about this!"

"You just said pilot," Calo corrected, beaming with admiration. "You never said what squadron, or what he flew! That's—that's insane!"

Mila laughed.

"Hey, Mila?" a voice echoed across the flight line.

"Yeah, babe?" Mila called over her shoulder.

Damien and Calo exchanged glances.

"Hand slipped; got cut on the side of the engine. It's bleeding."

Mila turned around.

"I mean, it's _really_ bleeding."

Mila winced. "I'll be right there," she said, digging into a pouch on her belt as she headed back towards the fighters. "Be right back, guys."

Calo and Damien watched her go, puzzled expressions on both of their faces.

"Did she just—"

"Shh."

Mila poked her head around the back of one of the fighters, a smile encompassing her face when who she was looking for came around the corner. She took a look at his hand and pulled out a gauze pad from her pouch, wrapping her hand tightly around his to stop the bleeding. His good hand held onto his helmet, which Calo noted was mostly black. His brow furrowed.

"Holy kriff," he said, his jaw going slack. "That's Commander Dameron."

"What?"

"That's Poe Dameron," Calo repeated, a little more excited. "Mila knows him!"

Mila grinned up at him as she tied off the bandage, Damien noting how her small hands lingered around Poe's for a second too long. The pilot pulled on his flight gauntlets – an irrepressible smile splitting his face as he did – and stooped down to quickly kiss her before disappearing back behind the X-wing.

Damien's mouth fell open. "Looks like she knows him _pretty well_."

Mila gently smiled at her toes, absent-mindedly shuffling back over towards her brothers as Rapier's engines screamed to life behind her.

A disbelieving smile stretched across Damien's face. "On the subject of things _not_ talked about—"

Mila laughed. "Guess I owe you an explanation, don't I?" She motioned over her shoulder to where the fighters lifted off. "That's Poe. I've known him for about a month now. Rapier Squadron's CO…" She beamed. "And my boyfriend."

Calo's jaw dropped. "When?" he asked, grinning. "And how?"

"Rapier's tight," Mila replied. "So when Kit was still under my charge, they all came to see him all the time. I saw Poe several times a day, we started talking, became friends, and that was that."

Damien grinned. Calo was struck dumb, a gaping smile frozen on his face.

"I don't really know how it happened. It just kind of... happened. It came out of nowhere."

"It's 'cause you didn't go looking for it this time," Damien said with a smile. He shook his head, pulling his little sister into a big bear hug. "I'm so happy for you, sis. That's…."

"Crazy," Calo finished.

Damien smiled at her. "What he said."

Mila couldn't help but laugh at both of them as she pulled back. "I told him you'd be surprised—"

Her comm suddenly started beeping. Her brow furrowed. "I gotta take this," she said, turning it on. "Lieutenant Criss."

"Lieutenant," a panicked voice replied. "This is Colonel Sundar. We've just come out of lightspeed. We got wounded, Mila. There's been another attack."

Mila's blood ran cold. "What?"

"There was another ambush. Several are critical. I need everybody in that burn center ready to go. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Mila's jaw tensed as she took off running for the med bay. "We'll be ready in five."


	16. The Brink

_Chapter 16: The Brink_

The pounding of Mila's boots against the hard floor echoed through the hallway as she ran, yelling into a comm. Her heart was racing. Surgeons and medics scurried to their stations around her, pulling on latex gloves and preparing for the worst.

An eerie sense of calm always took over the medcenter after a surprise call. Voices and hands remained steady, though the internal dialogue of those in charge of them was anything but. Sundar had mastered that art: the ability to keep his composure through even the scariest of circumstances. Though she had a good grasp on the skill herself, Mila had always admired him for it. She'd once even envied it for it.

When he commed in, he'd sounded utterly panicked. If she could take that as a sign of what was to come….

Her stomach turned. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath and blowing it back out as she pulled her hair back. Questions racked her spinning head. What had happened? How many were hurt? Who had been injured and just how badly?

The doors hissed open as she sprinted outside. Squinting into the sunlight, she made out the silhouettes of several dozen troop transports landing on the permacrete. Gangplanks slammed into the ground, and Darren appeared at the top, rolling the first of the injured soldiers down the ramp. Relief swept across the first sergeant's face as his commanding officer fell in step by his side.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," he said grimly. "Sad, though. You missed all the action."

"At the rate things have been going lately," Mila clipped, not in a joking mood. "I'm glad I did." She took a look at her patient, who was covered head to toe in burns and bandages. "He needs bacta."

"Lieutenant, they _all_ do."

"How many?"

"Fifty."

" _Fifty?!_ "

"Fifty."

"Which unit?"

"250th," Darren sighed. "Pathfinders."

Mila's heart dropped to her stomach. "I did not just hear you say that."

"You did, ma'am. Patrol went to Corellian hell. Fast. I'm not sure what happened but…"

Darren rambled on, but Mila didn't hear a word he said.

 _Jaren_.

She didn't know where her brother was, or if he was even alive, but she had to find him.

The doors to the medcenter hissed open, blowing a stream of cool air in Mila's face. The burned Pathfinder shivered.

"Do they need to operate?" Mila asked.

"Oh, yeah," Darren replied, the way his eyes bugged emphasizing the statement. He nodded towards his patient. "Most of these are critical. OR's gonna be busy today."

Mila nodded, frowning deeply. "That's us, Sergeant. Where are Krell and Sundar?"

"Both here. Krell wanted to go to Command, but Sundar's gonna need all the help he can get around here. We lost a bunch of them on the way in."

They passed through the threshold of the OR, positioning the bed next to one of many operating tables. A pair of medical droids carefully lifted the patient onto the table.

"Could have used you out there," Darren said sadly. "You and ten other units."

"Demilitarization's not helping us," Mila griped through her teeth, tying her hair back and sterilizing her hands and lower arms. "More med cruisers means more bacta tanks, and more bacta tanks means more lives saved." Angrily, she reached for a pair of latex gloves, popping them over her small hands. "If the Senate could even _begin_ to understand that—"

"Don't even start, Lieutenant," a cold voice snapped.

Mila squeezed her eyes shut and pursed her lips, not having to turn around to know who had come in. Everyone around her tensed.

"Yes, it is good to be back," Krell went on sarcastically. "Thank you _very_ much for asking."

Mila ignored her, positioning the surgical lights above her where she needed them. She nodded at Darren. "Let's get to work."

* * *

The day dragged on. More patients poured in. The second they'd finished working on the first one, a second one came behind him. Then a third, a fourth, a fifth. Eventually, Mila lost count. She always did. The most important number – the number that, for her, was the most sickening – was never how many came in.

It was how many couldn't come back out again.

Despite her colleagues' greatest efforts, that number was rising a little too fast. By the time the day was finally out, Mila wasn't sure she wanted to know it.

Finally able to pull off her surgical mask, Mila smiled with relief, taking in big gulps of dry air that didn't smell like perspiration and sterile filtering material. Slowly she made her way down the hallway from the OR to the waiting area, the ringing in her ears from the systematic beeping of medical droids and life monitors fading into quiet. Exhausted, she threw herself into a chair, numbly staring at her toes. Adrenaline fading from her body, she slumped forward, resting her head on her chest and fighting to keep her eyes open.

Booted footsteps echoed down the hallway towards her, but she was too tired to acknowledge them. They stopped about ten standard feet away.

"There you are," Poe said warmly. "You okay?"

Mila sat up a little bit, sighing so hard the pieces of her hair that had fallen in her face blew out in front of her. "I need a drink," she moaned. "And a hug."

Poe smiled empathetically. "C'mere," he said, pulling her onto her feet and into his arms. "I can fix that."

Gratefully Mila leaned into him, burying her face into the shoulder of his flight jacket. A small smile wisped across her face as he reached behind her head and took her hair down, slowly combing his fingers through it until the rigidness in her muscles disappeared. She heaved another sigh, tightening her grip and closing her eyes.

Poe rubbed her back, holding her close. "But as for that drink..."

He shrugged apologetically, and Mila laughed, pulling back enough to see his face and grinning up at him.

"There's a smile," Poe said softly, kissing the bridge of her nose. There were bags under Mila's eyes, but they sparkled nonetheless. He stooped and kissed her forehead, a gentle, reassuring look in his eyes as he pulled back and affectionately rubbed her shoulder.

"I heard about the attack," he said, taking Mila's hand and getting her to walk with him. "Has your brother gotten a hold of you yet? He said he was going to after he went to Command."

Mila's jaw fell open, and she turned to face him quickly. "You've seen him?" she exclaimed.

Poe nodded, a relived smile bursting across Mila's face when he did. "Right after we landed," he replied. "He's okay, Mila. He's angry – and he's got every right to be – but he's okay."

"Did he tell you what happened?"

Poe shook his head. "Moving too fast to. He said he needed to get to Command, and I wasn't about to get in his way." He sighed heavily. "Stood in his shoes way too many times."

Mila nodded knowingly.

Door hydraulics hissed behind them, and a good-sized group of people came in.

"Mila!" a familiar voice called above the chatter.

Gasping, Mila whipped around, sprinting across the tile and almost tacking a laughing Jaren to the ground. Poe grinned as he watched them.

"I'm okay," Jaren reassured, holding his little sister close and kissing the side of her head. "I'm okay."

"Lana and the boys—"

"They know. I went home as soon as Command let me go."

Mila sighed in relief, taking a step back and looking up at him.

Jaren suddenly grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes. "You know, you haven't gotten any _taller_ since the last time I saw you—"

"Shut up," Mila cut him off, backhanding him in the chest and stifling a smile.

"Kidding!" Jaren chuckled, holding up his hands in defense. "Really don't need any more bruises!"

Mila laughed, throwing her arms around her brother's neck again and sighing. Jaren held her for a second, rubbing her back.

"Welcome home, nerfherder," she whispered. "You scared the kriff out of me."

Smiling down at her, Jaren pulled back, giving Mila's slim shoulder an affectionate squeeze. He looked over her head. "Commander," he said, walking across the room and giving Poe's hand a shake. "How've you been? How's Rapier holding up?"

"Hanging in there, Colonel," Poe replied, smiling appreciatively. "Thanks for asking." His brow furrowed. "What happened?"

Jaren frowned. "Flametroopers," he said, his voice and his face darkening like a big storm cloud had just passed over them. "They were hiding in the brush. We got hosed."

"Flametroopers?" Mila asked.

Jaren scowled. "Stormtroopers with flamethrowers."

Poe's jaw tightened as he stared at the ground, his gaze hot enough to burn a hole in the floor. Mila sighed shakily.

Jaren looked towards Poe. "You're lucky you didn't run into them, Commander," he added. "We were in the same patrol sector that you were in the night Palvo and Cage were killed."

"So that sniper had buddies," Mila said.

"How many?" Poe asked.

"Ten," Jaren growled out. "Those of us that were still in fighting condition ran them down." He slammed his duffel on the ground, yanking back the zipper and wrestling with something inside. "I got to this one before he could blow himself up."

His small hands clenched around his prize, he lifted it into the open, the bright hospital lights glaring against its polished, white sides. Mila's jaw dropped. Poe's eyes widened.

Jaren handed the helmet to Mila, who held it like it would disintegrate in her hands if she breathed on it. "Did you take this to Command?" she said.

"I did."

"And?"

The Pathfinder almost smiled. "They're handing it and the reports over to Senate Intelligence," he replied. His comm beeped in his pocket, and when he checked it, his face hardened. "That's Command," he went on, taking a few quick steps backwards. "They've heard back from the Senate and want to debrief me on the discussion. I'll be back." He turned, heaving a shaky sigh. "There's no way they'll turn this down," he said over his shoulder as he disappeared. "We're going to war."

War.

Mila's blood ran cold. She was torn. Taking the fight straight to the First Order, she knew, desperately needed to happen. They'd overstepped their boundaries time and again and needed to be put in check. She'd often wondered what a war would be like. But after having had a small taste of it over the past few months – of the pain that it could cause her and those she loved – she wasn't sure she was ready for it. A full-fledged war meant more days like today. More carnage. More casualties. More time away from home. Away from family.

Away from Poe.

She'd just gotten him back. She'd had him back for two days. If the Senate voted to go to war, he'd be sent to some Force-forsaken rock in the Unknown Regions that was crawling with TIEs and ill-tempered Stormtroopers. She'd lose him again, Force only knew for how long.

After the hell that his last deployment had been, Mila couldn't bear the thought.

"War," she absently echoed, her voice freezing over with dread.

Poe nodded solemnly, sadly glowering at the floor. The New Republic Navy hadn't been placed on wartime alert since the waning days of the Galactic Civil War, when the last remnants of the Empire were sent packing towards the Unknown Regions, but they very well could be again. Now that Hux and his lackeys felt fit to crawl out from the darkness – now that they truly were an eminent threat – he knew he had to fight them back. It was his duty not only to the Republic, but to the those he had lost.

But this was a gamble. A cold game which, if he bet wrong, could get him or another one of his wingmen killed.

If the Senate called to go to war, the chances of them having to slog through that kind of grief again multiplied exponentially. Rapier, undoubtedly, would spearhead the counterattack. That pitted them against the best the First Order had to offer, which – if he let his addled thoughts drift down that worried path – meant they could lose someone else.

Could he really put them through another loss like that again? They acted as if everything was okay – even made the point of telling him that it was – but Poe knew his squadron better than they gave him credit for. He'd seen Karé's bloodshot eyes. Iolo's fatigue. He'd noticed how Muran's temper had flared. How the youthful brightness in Kit's brown eyes had dampened. They struggled under the weight of everything that had happened just as he did. And he knew it upset Mila to see them all like that—

Mila.

The sight of her stabbed him like a dagger through the heart. He didn't want to be separated from her again, especially in light of everything that had happened. He shuddered. Due to the nature of her job, it wasn't a stretch to think the same deadly thief that had taken Palvo and Cage from him could snatch her away, too.

Miia's unit wasn't only trained to evacuate wounded; it was specifically designed to be attached to strike teams. She and her men had to be able to fight like dogs to protect those couldn't protect themselves and, if needed, to charge in with the regulars. Her role in the combat would be every bit as dangerous as his, if not more.

Poe found his arms wrapping around her, pulling her into the safety of his protective embrace. In the way that she clung to him – buried her face into his shoulder like a frightened child waking from a nightmare – it was clear to him that she was asking the same questions as he was. How much time did they have left? If the Republic went to war, it wouldn't be long. How far apart would they be from each other? How often would he be able to talk to her, if he was allowed to at all? What would—

 _Stop_ , he scolded himself. _You don't even know if this thing's gonna go through. It might, it might not. Don't waste the energy on it until you know for certain_.

Mila's grip around his waist tightened, and he buried his face into the crook of her neck, letting out a long, low sigh.

He had her now. So he held her close, finding that as he relaxed into her, his urgency diminished. She with him and, for now, was perfectly safe. And that was all he could ask for.


	17. This Isn't Happening

_Chapter 17: This Isn't Happening_

"Do you think they were scared?"

It was a valid question – one that he had once asked them himself – but Poe still found his brow knotting at it.

"What?" he asked.

Shakily, Mila blew out a little breath. "Your parents. When their war started. When they found out—or when they were waiting to. Do you think they were scared?"

Poe nodded. "Dad told me he was," he replied, thinking back to the many conversations that he had had with his father about it while the day's light died out on Yavin IV. "Before and after. He was always worried. But he still had a job to get done, and nothing – not even being scared out of his mind – was going to keep him from it."

"What about your mom?"

Poe sighed softly, a tinge of longing setting in the brown of his eyes. "She didn't talk about it much," he said. "Though I imagine she was. I mean… it was war. One of the worst in Galactic history." He paused thoughtfully. "But I don't think the prospect of the fight itself is what made my parents nervous. Bucketheads, Interceptors, Death Stars. For them, that was just another day in the office." A breath of laugh rested in his voice, a bit of amusement sparkling in his eyes at the thought.

"But afterwards," he continued, his face darkening. "When the smoke had cleared and the Galaxy was beginning to rebuild itself. That was when they started worrying."

"About what?"

Poe's shoulders sagged as he reached out and pulled Mila to him again. He looked out the window, over top of the flight line and to the Senate arena, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach.

"That their victory had been in vain," he said. "And when you look at what's happening now, Mila…."

She searched his face, the worry returning to her eyes. "What about you?"

"Me?"

"Aren't you scared?"

Poe nodded. "If we're being honest, I wish I was still flying airshows." A smile softened his face when Mila briefly chuckled. "But I guess we've got to do what's necessary. You know… people want to feel safe and all. It's our job to give them that." His voice dropped to a whisper, his anxious gaze falling to the floor. "I just hope it's worth it…."

Mila nodded, leaning into his embrace further as a heat began to rise behind her eyes. "It better be," she said, cringing at how much her voice shook. "I… I just got you back…."

She felt Poe's arms tighten around her, the comfort of his presence draping around her like a warm, oversized blanket. Anxiety nearly strangled her, but the fact that she, for now, still had Poe there with her made it easier to bear. She felt his finger gently slide under her chin, tilting her head up so she'd look at him.

Poe searched her face for a moment, his own features softening a bit when she offered him a small, sad smile. Briefly he returned it before leaning in and kissing her urgently, the sheer, unexpected force of it completely taking Mila's breath away.

Poe pulled back, resting his forehead on hers and holding her head between his palms. Mila sighed heavily, squeezing her eyes shut as she grabbed for one of his hands.

"Hey," Poe urged gently. "Look at me." An empathetic smile eased across his face when Mila met his gaze again.

"I'm not going _anywhere_ ," he said, stalwart.

A few tears slid down Mila's face, but he wiped them away nearly as soon as they fell. Pulling her to him again, he ran his fingers through her hair, holding her close and kissing the side of her head.

"It's gonna be okay."

* * *

"Start making a list, baby face," Karé half-laughed. She, Kit, Muran, and Iolo sat in her quarters huddled around a holo-projector, watching the Senate debate as it unfolded. "After the Senate gets this glop figured out, where do you think they're gonna send us?"

Kit shrugged. "Wouldn't mind Theed," he replied. "Or Coruscant."

"Bespin," Iolo suggested. "The views are supposed to be incredible."

"Oo!" Karé suddenly exclaimed. "What about Mirrin Prime? I've heard it's really pretty."

"Uvos!" Kit threw in, fake enthusiasm thick in his voice. "Stare at a gas giant and pick off the Irving Boys while the real battle rages on around us. It'd be just our luck."

Karé and Iolo both groaned.

Muran chuckled dryly, a wry smile easing across his face. "Anywhere but Hoth," he said.

Karé nodded, laughing. "Oh, yeah," she agreed. "Take frying on a desert world to the Big Icy Ball of Suck any day."

"Careful what you wish for, Two," Poe joked, walking in behind them. "Command hears you say that, and we'll be flying airshows for Tusken Raiders."

"Yeah— _no_ ," Kit piped up.

"If we wind up on Tatooine," Poe teased, flopping down next to his long-time friend and folding his legs tailor-style in front of him. "Everybody blame Karé."

"C'mon," Karé shot back. "You know you'd be a killer in a podrace, Mr. I-Can-Fly-Anything."

Poe scoffed, grinning. "But what'd be worse? Tatooine or Mustafar?"

"Oh, by the Four Moons, no!" Iolo piped up, chuckling uneasily.

"Definitely Mustafar," Kit mused. "Tatooine'd be hot, but at least I could walk outside without, you know, my hair catching on fire."

"Very true."

"But then again, getting eaten by a krayt dragon doesn't sound so good, either."

Muran shrugged. "Still better than a wampa."

"Hear, hear!" Karé agreed, chuckling.

"Watch them put us on Mandalore," Kit went on. "Sure Death Watch would give us a nice welcome present."

"Ye-ah, _that's_ not happening."

Poe laughed. "Or…" he started, his face softening in thought. "They could just keep us right here. Be good to get to stay put on familiar soil for a while, don't you think?"

"Wouldn't mind that," Kit threw in. He suddenly grinned. "And neither would you, Commander."

Poe nodded, smiling. "No, I wouldn't."

His eyes drifted to the Holo, his face hardening into a frown when they did. A Senator – one of the many Poe couldn't put a name to – had the floor, the lights in the Senate chamber dancing on the back of his bald head. A thick Hevurion accent laced his voice, and he held the air of one who let the respect the others gave him get to his head.

"…but why sanction the First Order when we don't have definite proof that it was indeed their fault?" he projected, craning his neck as if he were watching to make sure all in the room were focused on him. "It may not be beneficial to us to send in troops immediately. We should try to reason with them before any disciplinary action is taken. We need other perspectives…."

Karé scoffed.

"…and it was merely a _handful_ of men. Sixty-seven out of well over one thousand! Hardly a scratch, considering the size of the rest of our collective forces…."

Poe scowled. _It's a hell of a lot more than a scratch when two of those killed were your own._

"If the First Order were really as much of a threat as you think they are, would they not have gunned down more? Would they not have…"

"Who the hell is this guy?" Iolo nearly growled. "And what does he think he's saying?"

Kit frowned, leaning in closer to the holo and squinting as he tried to make out the blurry Basic on the projection. "Senator Erudo Ro-Kiintor. Hevurion System."

"…aided by pirates. When your only help comes from criminals – criminals that our brave men and women behind the stick have stamped out time and time again – then they can be no _real_ threat…."

"People are _dying_ , Senator," Kit whispered sadly, his shoulders sagging. "Isn't that threatening enough?"

* * *

Mila sat on the edge of her bed, eyes glued to her own holo as the debate in the Senate unfolded in front of her. The farther along Ro-Kiintor got in his argument, the angrier the medic became.

"…the 250th Pathfinder Battalion is known to be a unit that openly looks for a fight," the Senator coolly went on. "It seems to me, fellow delegates, that this is less of a catastrophic tragedy and more of a catastrophic _blunder_ on the part of Lieutenant Colonel Criss and the rest of his team…."

Mila's eyes flashed. "Yeah," she muttered at the projection. "Blame the crime on the victim, Erudo. That's _totally_ how that's supposed to work."

"…but I know this for certain. We _cannot_ continue to send more men to die needlessly while looking for a threat that may not even exist!"

Cheers erupted in the Senate chamber. A long, thin smile slid across Ro-Kiintor's face. His two aides – one of which Mila owed her bright hazel eyes and the other her dark hair and small frame – applauded wildly. She frowned. She'd never been fond of her parents' line of work, but seeing them in that pod stung.

Especially now, when the Senator brought into question the integrity of their own son and they _cheered_.

"They do _so much_ to protect us," Ro-Kiintor went on. "I believe we owe it to them to protect them by keeping them on _our_ soil and as far away from the Unknown Regions as possible—"

Mila shut the holo off with a click, huffing. Blankly, she stared at her floor, her head spinning as she tried to take in all that she'd just heard. A knot formed in her stomach. She'd never been particularly fond of Ro-Kiintor – he was too high-class and arrogant for her taste – but now, even a picture of him could flush her face with anger.

People were dying, but the Senate kept Command tied down. Ro-Kiintor only tightened the knots.

With an aggravated huff, Mila threw herself back on her bed, tracing patterns into the ceiling with her eyes. The Senate hadn't reached a decision yet, so did she really have a reason to be angry at them?

Her shoulders sank into the mattress as she stared numbly above her, a tense quiet overtaking the room. Absent-mindedly she felt around for the remote, but she stopped herself before she could find it. Turning that thing back on would only heighten her anxiety, so she rolled over, hugged her knees to her chest, and watched traffic go by through her bedroom window, her body growing heavier as the last of the day's light faded from the sky.

What she wouldn't give for some real rest, but that night her dreams were anything but restful.

* * *

Mila awoke early the next day with a start, still fully dressed in her fatigues from the day before. Slowly she sat up, dangling her still-booted feet over the side of the bed and looking out the window. The sun's light was just beginning to leak into the sky, the stars fading behind it as it rose from a crimson horizon.

It was a beautiful morning, and Mila half-smiled at it as she stood up and stretched. Groggily she dragged herself over to where her data pad sat on her desk, picking it up and hoping beyond all hope that there was no news for her to get. A little green light flashing in the corner of the device screamed otherwise.

Taking a deep breath, Mila turned on her screen and went to her messages, her heart stopping at the one on the top of the stack.

 _Lieutenant Mila Criss – Unit Transfer Notice_.

Her heart pounding, she took a deep breath and tapped the message, a fresh wave of worry knocking into her and making her dizzy.

_Lieutenant,_

_As you well know, the Senate has been debating the course of action to be taken by all New Republic military units in the aftermath of the Dantooine attacks. I have been asked to inform you of their decision. At 03:00 this morning, Senate correspondence released a statement revealing that a compromise had been reached—_

"Compromise," Mila chuckled dryly. "Didn't think that word was in their vocabulary."

_—and that the First Order is not to be engaged under any circumstances. However, most active New Republic units are to be transferred to various bases close to the Unknown Regions so that our borders can be watched and, in the unlikely event of an attack, our best troops are already in a position to engage any hostile forces._

_Your battalion has been assigned to—_

Mila's eyes bugged, her breath faltering as she kept reading.

"This isn't happening," she helplessly whispered, clapping a hand over her mouth. "This isn't happening…."

_—and we look forward to your safe return._

_May the Force be with you all,_

_General Antilles_

"This isn't happening…."

Numbly she stared at the floor, the news hitting her with the force a freighter traveling at lightspeed.

She had to find Poe.

* * *

_How do I tell him?_

As she wound through the barrack's hallways, Mila mulled over the question. She hardly had the energy to move, much less talk. She could barely breathe. She felt sick.

The closer to his door she got, the worse it became.

Slowly she rapped her knuckles on the door, her hands beginning to shake when it hissed open. BB-8 nearly knocked her to the ground, warbling excitedly. A weak smile found it's way to the corners of Mila's mouth.

"Hey, buddy," she managed. "Is Poe here?"

The little droid chirped, spinning back through the doorframe and egging Mila to follow him. She sighed shakily and stepped in, shutting the door behind her. She heard his voice bouncing from the other side of the room, it's usually comforting tone threatening to bring the heat to the backs of her eyes. She swallowed.

"Hey, sweetheart," Poe called, coming around the corner. "How are—holy kriff. Are you alright?"

Mila managed to shake her head.

"C'mere," Poe said, reaching out and wrapping his arms around her. She trembled in his embrace.

"What is it?" he asked, concern plastering itself all over his face and voice as he pulled back and gripped her shoulders.

Mila tried to talk, but words failed her. Poe's face fell.

"You got orders, didn't you?"

Slowly, Mila nodded.

Poe sighed, trying to expel the dread that came in around his heart before it had time to settle.

"Where are you going?"

"Old Echo Base," Mila managed, barely audible. "Hoth."

She couldn't look at him, and that scared him.

Tentatively, Poe nodded.

"For…" He took a deep breath. "For how long?"

Mila sighed shakily, steeling herself as the heat rushed to the backs of her eyes.

"Three years," she stammered.


	18. Fight

_Chapter 18: Fight_

She lost the courage to look at him the second the words left her mouth. By the way Poe sighed – by the way he swayed backwards as if the devastating news had socked him in the gut – Mila knew the doubts that had ravaged her mind on the long walk over now paraded through his.

"Three years…" he echoed distantly, fighting to steady himself. "That… that's—" He heaved a quick, forceful sigh, any semblance of an encouraging response dying on his lips. "Holy kriff…."

Mila's voice trembled. "What do we do?" she whispered, the croak of an unreleased sob scratching at her throat.

Poe shook his head, running his hand through his hair nervously. "I don't know," he said.

Tears clouded her vision, but Mila refused to let them fall. Her face twitched as she tried to retain a neutral expression. Her jaw clenched. Anxiety gnawed at her stomach, crushing down on her shoulders and making it hard to breathe. The bliss she'd felt only days before – the ecstasy of Poe's return, the soft, sweet taste of their first kiss, the feeling that she would live wrapped in that fairytale forever – it was gone. Struggling to peak back through the black of her doubts like a star on its deathbed.

He'd said he wasn't going anywhere. Every other man who had ever made her that promise had broken it.

Poe wouldn't… would he?

Something inside her told her she had no reason to worry. Things hadn't happened too fast, and Poe had no… ulterior motives. If he would have, experience told her that they would have surfaced by now. His interest was genuine. But with three years and several thousand parsecs between them, how long would it hold up, if at all?

Poe stood with his hands on his hips, nodding and blinking furiously. His brow furrowed. "Are you sure you read it right?" he ventured.

Mila nodded. Poe's face fell.

"When do you leave?"

Mila's voice trembled. "Two days."

Poe sighed shakily. "Okay." He nodded again, and Mila could tell he was fighting to keep his composure. "So…." He scoffed at himself, flopping on the edge of his bed. "Caraya's soul," he murmured. "What the hell do we do? That's…"

Mila swallowed.

Poe stared at the ground hollowly. "Three years is a _long_ time."

He blew out a long, nervous breath, resting his elbows on his knees as he held his head in his hands.

Dread snagged Mila's heart, a dark piece of fruit snatched from a tree. The slumped posture, the defeated gleam in the eyes, the helplessness. She'd seen it all before. And if the rest of the conversation followed her worn-out blueprints, she was about to lose him.

Which was why his next statement took her aback:

"There has _got_ to be a way."

Mila's brow furrowed. "What?" she trepidly breathed. "You… you're not…"

He stood and looked at her, his brown eyes soft. "I'm not what, sweetheart?"

Mila sniffed. "You're not… you're not leaving—"

"No!" Poe murmured earnestly, taking a few big steps towards her and catching her up in his arms as she started to cry. "No, no, no, no. Mila, I'd never—" He stopped short, blown away that she could even treat with the idea.

His voice lowered to a soothing whisper. "I'm not going anywhere."

Poe's hand wound into her hair, gently massaging her scalp as she sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm not going _anywhere_ , Mil," he echoed, the declaration stalwart. "That's the last thing you have to worry about."

He tenderly kissed the base of her neck, the soft, comforting touch lingering. "Shhh…."

For what felt like hours Mila fought for her breath, struggling to tame the storm that surged inside her. Resting her head on Poe's shoulder, she leaned into his arms, the ability to breathe rushing back to her as the last of her tears finally slid down her face. Her head throbbed; her eyes stung. Inhaling shakily, she pulled back enough to see Poe's face.

"Now," he said, wiping the tears from her eyes and offering her the gentle, crooked smile that never failed to stop her heart. "What made you think I'd leave you?" He eyed her with mock offense. "I'm not _that_ guy."

A grin suddenly burst across Mila's tearstained face, accompanied by a short, stuffed-up laugh. Clearly she felt the fool, but the smile on her face said she was relieved to feel that way. Poe softly chuckled as he bent to kiss her forehead.

"We'll figure it out," he reassured, taking her small hand in his. "No use worrying if you don't have a plan yet. That message say anything about off-world communication?"

Mila nodded. "I get two comms a week; one holo transmission every month. One of those comms goes to my family—" she beamed through her tears "—but the other one's all yours. So's the holo." Her features softened. "I don't think I could go three years without seeing your handsome face," she whispered, running her fingertips down the length of his jaw.

"Sounds like a plan," Poe replied softly. Smiling, he held out his arms to her, inviting her to walk into them. "C'mere."

Mila went to him, exhaling as he wrapped her in his warm embrace.

"We're gonna make this work," Poe promised, affectionately pressing his lips to her temple. "I'm willing to fight for it if you are."

He felt her nod, and he pulled her closer.

"I'm not saying it's going to be easy," he went on, stroking her hair. "Chances are, it won't be. It will be one of the hardest things you have ever done. But you know what?"

He tiled her chin up to look at him as his voice dropped to an impassioned whisper.

"It sure as hell's gonna be worth it."

* * *

"Awh, _no_."

Between the tone of Kit's voice and the way his shoulders slumped, Mila couldn't help but chuckle at him. They were out on the flight line as he worked on his fighter, the noonday light hanging high in the sky. Mila had come out to see everybody on her lunch break, and she'd just given them her news.

Kit sighed empathetically. "Whelp," he said, closing a few panels underneath the X-wing's nose. "If you've gotta get stranded out there, here's a few tips. Don't go outside at night, watch out for black ice on the ground, and whatever you do—" he rolled out on the mechanic's creeper he'd bee n using to look the lieutenant in the eye "—do _not_ give the tauntauns shuura fruit. No matter how cute they are begging for it. Gives them terrible gas."

Poe sniggered loudly from the top of his fighter. "I'd forgotten about that."

Mila's eyebrow quirked. "This just word around the campfire, Kit? Or are you speaking from experience?"

Kit shrugged. "Well…."

Mila chuckled nervously.

"Yeah— _don't_ do it. Just…" He waved his hands in front of him, as if he were cutting himself off. "Bad idea. Bad, _bad_ idea." He paused, his voice dropping apologetically. "Stunk up the hanger for a week…."

Mila laughed.

"So they put on you on Old Echo, huh?"

Mila nodded.

"That's where we were!" Kit exclaimed, grinning. "Once you get past the cold, Lieutenant, it's actually not _that_ bad. I mean… it's still pretty miserable sometimes, and your fingers might turn blue, but there's all kinds of cool stuff hiding around in that area."

"Like what?" Mila asked, smiling at his childlike enthusiasm.

From where he was sitting, Poe could hear the conversation. Because he'd known Kit for so long, he could spot the disappointment hidden in the lieutenant's big brown eyes. But on Kit talked, happily recounting his adventures as if nothing was wrong. Poe swore nothing could dampen the young man's gusto, not even the news he and Mila had just given him.

 _Thank the Force for you, Kit,_ he thought. _We'd lose our minds without you._

"…they've got a few vintage snowspeeders in the hangar. You can still see scaring on the walls from where the old energy shield blew, and if you look out in the morning, you can see the shells of the old AT-ATs from the Battle of Hoth!"

That perked Mila up at. "Are you serious?" she said. She leaned forward, intrigued.

"Yup," Kit replied. "We've got a flat holo of Cage on top of one of the feet."

"You can go out there?"

Kit nodded. "Only by tauntaun, _if_ they don't buck you off first." He craned his neck in the direction of one of the other fighters, grinning wickedly. "Right, Muran?"

Muran stared at him flatly, none too thrilled about his misadventure resurfacing. The starts of a chuckle shook his voice. "Shut up, kid."

Kit shrugged, an innocent smile playing on the corners of his lips. He turned back to Mila, who was chuckling. "You've heard the Cage-got-locked-in-a-utility-closet story, but if you were wondering if anything on Hoth beat that, yeah." He snickered, jerking at Muran with his thumb. "That definitely did."

Mila laughed.

"And here soon," Kit went on, "you'll be able to catch us up on the crazy sithspit that happens to you while you're there." He put an oil-stained hand on her shoulder. "The Big Icy Ball of Suck is an… experience, that's for sure. But once you get _past_ the suck, it's a pretty neat place."

Karé's R4 unit whistled from somewhere behind them, its tone dripping sarcasm. Karé laughed.

"What'd he say, Karé?" Kit called, grinning.

Karé smirked. "He asked if the coolant fumes were getting to your head."

Suppressing a grin, Kit eyed his friend's old astromech. "That how it is, bucket brain?"

The droid warbled again, this time indignantly. Karé brought her palm to her forehead, the white of her smile peaking out from behind the shadow cast across her face as she laughed.

"What now?"

"Says you should be sent to a psych analyst!"

Kit lightly scoffed. "Pessimist."

Karé gave him a look.

"Oh, so you agree with him?"

"Hey," she refuted, pointing at him with the Harris wrench in her hand. " _You_ weren't the one with frostbite on your toes, laser brain."

"Well, if you'd just have, you know, _not_ forgotten your winter-weight socks, that probably wouldn't have happened!"

Karé sighed in defeat, shaking her head at him and grinning. "You're a tool." She shrugged, turning to a laughing Mila. "He is right, though."

Mila shook her head, grinning ruefully. "I'm gonna miss you guys."

"We'll miss you too, Mil," Kit replied, nodding. "You're the thirteenth man." He reached his arms out for a quick hug. "Part of the family."

Mila beamed, returning her young friend's embrace. "Thanks, bud," she whispered.

"How much longer before you deploy? You said two days, right? Well… now it's more like a day and a half, but—"

"Kit," Mila chuckled, cutting him off with a reassuring smile.

Kit dipped his head. "Just, uh, come and see us as much as you can before you go, okay?"

Mila smiled. "I'll be sure to." She took a step towards the fighters behind him. "And I don't have to go back to work _just_ yet, so I think I'll hang out here." Coming up to Poe's X-wing, she reached up and wrapped her knuckles on the metal, just under the cockpit. "Knock, knock."

Poe's head popped over the side, peering down at her. "Got a few minutes?"

Mila nodded.

He smiled brightly. "Get up here."

Grinning, Mila complied, hauling herself up the rungs of the ladder and hanging just outside the cockpit. BB-8, who was in the astromech socket, warbled a happy greeting.

"Hey, little guy," Mila smiled, reaching out and touching the droid's dome. "You ready to go?"

BB-8 warbled again, his body rocking in time with his speech.

"Actually," Poe said, "sounds like he wants to get down. Wants to run one last scan before we lift off." He nodded towards his girlfriend. "You should be able to reach your hand down in the space between the socket wall and BB-8. There's a lever in there that will drop him if you can get a grip on it."

Leaning sideways, Mila stuck her arm into the socket, groping around.

"Feel it?"

"Not yet. But it's gotta be—wait. There it is."

She gave the lock a good yank, and BB-8 plummeted to the ground, hitting the permacrete with a loud metal _clank_. He rolled backwards and chirped a 'thank you' before disappearing under the fighter.

Poe chuckled. "Little guy's always on the move."

Mila smiled at him. "So what's on the agenda for you today, flyboy? Anything earth-shattering?"

Poe glanced at the sky. "If you can call orbital runs 'earth-shattering,' then yes." He pulled his flight gauntlets over his hands. "Gonna take Kit up there and see how he does. He shouldn't wind up back with your guys, should he?"

"He'd _better_ not," Mila exclaimed. Her eyes wandered into the cockpit. "That looks complicated," she said, staring at the controls.

Poe lightly shrugged. "It's not too bad. Just a matter of remembering what goes with what." He reached down past the stick to his feet and grabbed his helmet, sitting it on his lap and crossing his arms over the top of it nonchalantly. "It's like with anything else. More time goes on, the more you do it, the more you remember."

BB-8 squawked at him from below. Poe grinned.

"Hold on, buddy," he said, his gloved fingers moving across the panel in front of him. "It's coming."

Hydraulics hissed, and BB-8 rose back up into the astromech socket, photoreceptor glancing around as if he were taking in the view. A set of quad engines roared to life nearby, followed by another, and the little droid beeped excitedly.

"About to head out?" Mila asked.

Poe nodded.

X-wing canopies came down in Mila's peripheral, and she grinned at her pilot before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.

"Fly pretty," she murmured, stepping down the ladder and dragging it away.

Poe's engines growled as they awoke, their deep, familiar tone bringing a smile to Mila's face. The canopy came down around him, and she could see him keying in a few last commands before lifting off.

The whole squadron rose in tandem. One by one, the Rapiers stretched and snapped into hyperspace, leaving nothing but an empty blue sky in their wake.

As she watched them, Mila smiled sadly. The next time she was out here, she thought, it would be her making the jump. But she still had one day left.

She'd better make it count.


	19. Last Night Home

_Chapter 19: Last Night Home_

Except for the sheets on the bed and the bed itself, the room was completely barren.

Mila stood in the threshold, looking around at the now eerily while walls. She didn't bring too much with her on base – her possessions of highest importance stayed in her childhood room – but it still rattled her a bit. Gingerly she came in, walking towards her window and leaning against the windowsill with a dampened gleam in her bright hazel eyes.

The room itself wasn't much – standard living quarters for a lieutenant weren't terribly big and only came with necessary furniture, a small refresher, a food conservator, and a bed - but she had grown fond of it. For the past nine years, it had been home. Her personal alcove. It would be waiting for her when she got back, she knew, but like everything else on her homeworld, she was going to miss it terribly.

A soft knock on the doorframe gently shook Mila from her thoughts. She turned around and smiled when she saw Poe coming towards her, holding something under his arm.

"Get packed?" he asked, looking around.

Mila nodded, biting her lower lip and sighing. "It's a little too real now," she admitted.

A sympathetic smile warmed Poe's face. "I know," he said, rubbing her arm affectionately. "But if you have room, I've got something for you." He took the mystery object, a massive white blanket, and draped it around her shoulders, holding onto her from behind.

"Kept me from freezing to death when I was there," he murmured, planting a kiss on the side of her face and resting his chin on her shoulder. "Figured it could help you, too, given how you get cold so easily."

Mila grinned, turning her head to look at him. The little things that Poe remembered – the way she liked her caf, her favorite spots on base, and, more relevantly, the fact that she usually slept with several extra blankets to shut out the chill that always seemed to find her – never failed to make her heart smile.

"Thank you," she replied sweetly, pulling the thick, plush fabric around her. "Man, it's soft," she mused. "What's it made of?"

"Wampa fur." He smirked at her. "Sweating yet?"

Mila laughed. "Little bit." She turned around in his arms and faced him, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him. "You have no idea how much this helps." she said, walking across the room to the massive duffel slumped in the corner.

Her feet shuffled across the floor, and Poe had to laugh at the way the blanket pooled around her feet, trailing behind her like the train of a wedding dress. She kneeled next to the bag – it was nearly as big as she was – and gave the zipper a good, loud yank. Softly she folded her gift, gently tucking it into the top where she could access it easily.

Hoth was cold, but space was colder. She would need it on the way over.

Poe grinned. "So it's your last night here, babe," he said, trying to sound cheerful as he sat on the foot of her bed. "What're you planning on doing with it?"

Mila shrugged, zipping the duffel and standing. "Hadn't really thought about it." She walked back across the room, reaching for the conservator handle. "I've still got some food. We could heat it up, and—"

A deep frown set into her features as her voice cut out.

"I already cleaned it out." She sighed, her shoulders sagging. "There goes that idea."

"You hungry?"

" _Starving_."

"For what?"

Mila shook her head. "I don't know," she said.

Poe's eyebrow quirked. "Well _that_ doesn't help me very much," he drawled, a crooked grin splitting his face when Mila lightly chuckled.

"Ivarujari?" the medic suggested, her voice emulating the shrug that tugged at her shoulders. "We could run out and get it and bring it back here. Lay low for a while."

"We could," Poe replied, nodding as he considered her proposition. His brown eyes twinkled. "Or we could grab it – my treat – and then take it to the top of the hanging gardens and watch the sun set."

Mila curiously met his gaze, her lips parting in the starts of a bright, intrigued smile. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"Little bit overdue," Poe replied with a bold grin, standing up and leaning on the wall next to her. "But yeah. That's exactly what I'm doing."

Mila beamed, searching his face with an excited light in her eyes that Poe wasn't sure he'd seen before. Her whole face glowed.

"You up for it?"

Mila nodded. "Of course I am."

* * *

The view from the top of the gardens was nothing short of incredible. Republic City glowed gold under the sunset, the distant starts of night fading the sky from deep reds and oranges to indigo. The farther away the sun sank, the brighter the flecks waxing starlight became. Past the city, a river wound off into the distance, melting into the horizon as if it were a stream of molten gold. It affectively robbed the breath from Poe's lungs. But as far as he was concerned, it still wasn't the best Hosnian Prime had to offer.

The small-framed silhouette draped in his flight jacket that stood in front of him would forever hold that title.

From the second they'd finished the climb and stepped out onto the roof, Mila hadn't stopped smiling. Her features softened by the dying day's light, she seemed more radiant that ever. Her unbound brown hair blew gently back in the cool breeze, wrapping around her shoulders as she eagerly peered into the distance.

Poe grinned. If there was a way he wanted to remember her for the next three years, this was definitely it.

He knew – to his chagrin – that his time with her was quickly running out, so he'd spent the majority of the evening taking her in. Memorizing the way she moved, how her small hand fit in his, how her eyes sparkled when she laughed. He'd asked her about everything under the sun, committing every last word of her responses to memory the second they left her mouth.

As cliché as he knew it was to think, he could have listened to Mila talk forever and not for one second been bored.

"Damn," he said, eyeing her with an amused cringe as she finished off the most recent of her stories. "You really haven't had the best luck."

Mila shrugged, chuckling lightly. "The first I'd blame less on him being a jackass and more on both of us being young and stupid. Broke up after three weeks." She laughed at herself. "I thought for sure it was the end of the world. Then my Academy days came, and you know how that goes. Everybody has their fair share of flings."

Poe chuckled knowingly. " _Oh_ yeah."

"It was _after_ I got out of the Academy and was trying to get into the unit I'm in now that I got into trouble."

Poe's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Mila sighed. "Jerks crawled out of the woodwork, as Calo would say. Anything from trying to keep me from my job to trying to make me… do things that I didn't want to do. Let's put it that way."

Poe frowned concernedly. "You come out okay?"

"Oh, yeah. I stopped him before anything could happen. One of my own men – not my brightest idea – and after he came on me, I ordered him to stand down and he didn't. Got him arrested and court-marshaled for insubordination." She paused, her brow furrowing as she finished off the last of the Ivarujari noodles she was holding. "And that was _after_ I kicked him in the family jewels so hard he can probably no longer have children…."."

Poe's brown eyes bugged as an astonished laugh blew through his lips. He patted her on the shoulder. "That's my girl."

"So what about you, flyboy? You made any infinitely stupid decisions like that?"

Poe nodded, a wry smile warming his face. "Starfleet cadet is pretty much synonymous with stupid." He snickered. "Karé and Iolo can attest to that."

"So you were a bit of a smooth operator, huh?"

"A bit," he echoed, his face softening as he tucked a piece of Mila's hair behind her ear. "Though something tells me if I'd have run into you back then," he added, his voice lowering mellifluously as he searched her face, "you would've stopped me dead in my tracks."

Mila's face glowed as she smiled. "You think so?" she asked softly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He stooped and kissed her tenderly. "I _know_ so," he whispered.

Mila beamed, resting her head on Poe's shoulder as he pulled her into his arms. A content half-smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, she leaned into his embrace, calmed by the rise and fall of his chest as she watched the last of the sunset fade into dusk.

Everything seemed to slow, to relax, as she did. The hum of the city below waned in her ears, as if it were drifting off to sleep. Between the cool breeze and the sweet warmth of Poe's scent caressing her senses, Mila found her eyelids drooping a bit. She smiled wistfully.

"I wish I didn't have to go," she softly moaned, drawing herself closer to him.

Poe sighed. "So do I," he replied, gently rubbing her back. "But we can do this. I know we can. I mean… it'll be just like Dantooine, just nobody's dying. And once the first four-week cycle is up, we'll just have—" he paused as he did the math in his head "—thirty-five more to go. That's… not so bad, is it?"

Mila poutingly chortled.

"What?"

Mila's groaning laughter grew louder. "You just made it sound longer…."

"I did?"

"Yes."

Poe sighed, an exasperated chuckle cutting through his breath as a defeated smile slipped across his face.

"Whelp," he decided. "I tried."

"And that's appreciated," Mila reassured affectionately, standing on her tiptoes and planting a kiss on his jaw. She searched his face for a moment after she pulled back, a swell of soft emotion rising in her chest as she lost herself in his deep brown eyes.

"You know something?" she said.

"What?" Poe asked, drawing her a little closer to him.

Mila's lips parted into a quiet smile. She'd never been one to say exactly what she was thinking, but for whatever reason the words had no trouble leaving her mouth.

"I _really_ like you."

A grin burst across Poe's face.

"I really like you, too," he murmured, his eyes dampening wistfully as his hand found the small of her back. "And I'm gonna miss the hell out of you when you're gone."

He ran his thumb across her cheek as he spoke, reveling in the softness of her skin and committing it to memory. Mila briefly held his face in her hands before kissing him with a tender passion he wasn't sure he'd felt before. Poe leaned into her and smiled. He certainly didn't have a problem returning it, and he heard Mila's breath shorten when he did.

If he could somehow capture this moment and make it last for the rest of his life, he would. Life, however, habitually kept him from being that selfish.

* * *

She'd thought about asking Poe to stay with her that night, so that she wouldn't have to pass the hours lying awake alone, but she hadn't been brave enough to. No matter how hard she tried, Mila couldn't shut her eyes. Every noise outside her window made her jump, even if she knew its source. When her worried mind finally let her exhausted body drift to sleep, her alarm jarred her awake again.

Her head pounding and her eyes hurting from lack of sleep, Mila groaned exasperatedly. She willed her muscles to move, though they were too worn down to listen. Her eyes heavily closing, she sank into her mattress, fighting the pull of the rest she so desperately needed and failing miserably.

She thought she heard her door hiss open – thought she heard footsteps nearing her bedside – but she dismissed it as the starts of a dream. The side of her bed sank, creaking under added weight as someone sat down next to her. The piece of hair that had fallen across her face was gently brushed back into place, clearing the way for the soft, lingering kiss that was pressed to her forehead.

If this was a dream, Mila thought, it was off to a good start.

"Mila," Poe murmured, stroking her face with the back of his index finger.

Slowly Mila's hazel eyes cracked open, eyeing his silhouette with sleepy fondness. A warm, familiar smell drifted up her nose, and she smiled faintly.

"Did you bring me caf?" she asked, the croak of exhaustion set deeply in her voice.

"I _did_ bring you caf."

Mila's smile broadened. "You're the best, babe," she said, stretching and sitting up as he handed her the mug he'd brought with him. Gratefully she took a sip.

Poe looked her over, an empathetic gleam in his eye. "You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?"

Mila shook her head, her eyes involuntarily shutting again as the corners of her lips sagged.

"I didn't either," he admitted, rubbing her back. "Head wouldn't let me."

"Well, then. If you were awake all night, I really _should_ have asked you to stay." She smiled at him suggestively. "Could've had all sorts of fun."

Poe chuckled. He leaned in and kissed her temple, burying his face into her messy hair. "Gotta leave you something to look forward to when you come home," he whispered in her ear.

Mila grinned, taking another sip of caf. Her hand found his in the darkness and gave it a squeeze. "Haven't even left yet and I'm already counting the days." She swung her legs over the side of her bed and put her feet on the floor. "But," she said, standing and stretching again. "I guess the sooner I get up, the faster the time will start passing, huh?"

She shuffled across the room, slapping her hair up in a lazy ponytail and throwing the top half of her fatigues over the t-shirt – one of Poe's – that she'd tried to sleep in. Reluctantly she grabbed her combat boots, pulling them over her feet. She moved to lace them up, but Poe kneeled in front of her, looking up at her with a gentle smile before picking up the laces and tying them himself.

Heat rose to the backs of Mila's eyes. She might not have known how she landed or even deserved a guy as sweet and thoughtful as Poe was – for all she knew, she might not ever figure that out – but she knew for a fact that she was lucky to have him. And that, in a few hours time, she was going to miss him terribly.

Poe stood, taking her hand and helping her to her feet.

"C'mon, Lieutenant," he said, a soft sadness lacing his voice as he stooped and hoisted her duffel over his shoulder. "Let's move."

* * *

The sun hadn't even begun to rise as the two silently made their way towards the flight line. Transports loaded with supplies and other troops from other units were already rising into the air, leaving Hosnian Prime behind. Familiar voices rose up over the engines, barking out the beginnings of final orders as Mila and Poe came closer.

Mila sighed, hanging her head. Poe rubbed her shoulder reassuringly, the affectionate gesture comforting her and making her heart sink all at the same time. In a few hours time, she'd have to wait three gruelingly long years to feel that touch again.

Poe hoisted her duffel a little higher onto his back. "Where's this going, Mil?" he asked.

Mila's voice was barely audible. "It stays with me."

Nodding, Poe set it down at her feet. His deep eyes glanced around the flight line, spotting Krell and Sundar and a large group of soldiers standing in front of several transports. Krell's cold voice cut through the engine noise.

"There's a conversation you probably don't need to miss," he sighed.

Mila nodded, heaving her duffel onto her back with a tired grunt. Poe's neck craned over the crowd to a line of X-wings parked in the distance. His squad had beaten him out there.

"You go ahead and do what you need to do, sweetheart," he said, the dampened gleam in his eye lifting a bit as the starts of a smile brightened his face. "I'll be right back."

He stooped and kissed her forehead, giving her shoulder a light squeeze before turning and jogging across the line.

Mila briefly smiled at her toes, wondering what else he had up his sleeve. Steeling herself, she squared her shoulders and marched over to where the rest of her unit was standing, coming up between Darren and Wex.

Orders passed through one ear and out the other, squelched from her concentration by exhaustion and fear. She met eyes with Sundar, who smiled reassuringly at her as he talked through the last of the deployment procedures.

Sundar dismissed his troops, swinging his own duffel over his shoulder and backing up towards the transport. The men and women under his command dispersed across the flight line, gathering belongings and saying their goodbyes to friends and families.

All, he noted, save one.

"Lieutenant?"

Mila jumped, snapping from her thoughts to stand at attention. An empathetic smile stretched across the colonel's face as he noted the bags under her drooping eyes. Fondly, he clapped her on the shoulder as he walked past her. Mila's face softened as she watched him tightly hug his wife and soothe his children. She even went so far as to smile.

Sundar had a gift for putting others at ease, for instilling confidence in the people around him. She was glad he'd be with her.

Her eyes raked the crowd, watching her own men as they said their goodbyes. Wex kissed his new fiancée; Darren joked with his father and mother before wrapping them both in a tight hug. One of Sundar's kids – a son who looked exactly like him – suddenly burst out laughing at something his father said, bringing a faint grin to Mila's face.

Quick footsteps belonging to little feet pounded into the permacrete behind her. The grin on Mila's face widened.

"Uh oh," she said, wheeling around to face her young assailants – her twin nephews – as they nearly knocked her to the ground. She laughed, holding the two boys close as she stood and walked towards the rest of her family.

"Would've said incoming," Jaren chuckled, ruffling the twins' sandy hair, "but they're getting too fast."

Mila smiled, burying her face into Liam and Evan's little shoulders as she hugged them. "Oh," she sighed, setting them down and kneeling in front of them. "I'm gonna miss you two _so_ much."

"When will you be back, Aunt Mila?" Evan asked.

"Can you come back tomorrow?" added Liam.

Mila chortled. "I wish I could, buddy," she said, smiling sadly. "But I'm gonna be gone for a real long time." She tapped the boys' noses. "You guys are gonna be _so_ big when I get back."

In the distance, Poe watched his girlfriend cajole her nephews. One of them suddenly giggled, throwing his little arms around his aunt's neck as she planted a firm kiss on the side of his face. Suddenly he was back on a small Yavinian ranch, with a mother who showed the same wistful affection to her son that Mila poured out to the child in her arms. He couldn't help but smile as he looked on.

"…but until then," Mila went on, looking Liam right in the eyes. "You've gotta promise me you'll look after your mom and dad." She eyed Jaren with a smirk. "Dad's a loose cannon. Keep him out of trouble for me, will ya?"

Liam giggled and nodded.

Mila grinned. "Good."

The gleam in her eye dampened as she thought about setting the boy down, but Liam tightly wrapped his arms around her neck, burying his little face into the top of her shoulder.

"I love you, Aunt Mila," he said simply.

Mila beamed, a little heat rising to the backs of her eyes. "I love you too, buddy," she replied, rubbing his back. "I'll be back before you know it."

Gently, she put Liam's feet back on the ground, looking up at the boy's father. The Pathfinder smiled at her.

"C'mere," he whispered, pulling his little sister into his arms. Mila sighed shakily as she leaned into his broad shoulder.

"You'll be okay, sis," Jaren reassured, ruffling her hair. "I've still got your back, even from halfway around the galaxy." His voice dropped to murmur in her ear. "And don't worry about your Rapier. I'll keep an eye on him for you."

Mila chuckled, pulling back to look up at her brother before turning to his wife. The rising sun reflecting on her blonde hair, Lana offered her sister-in-law a little smile as she hugged her.

"Stay safe," she said, giving Mila's arm a squeeze.

"And stay warm," Damien added, hugging his sister from behind. "Don't need you freezing to death out there."

Mila laughed, moving around and returning the mechanic's embrace. She turned to Calo, who had laid a hand on his big sister's shoulder before hugging her tightly.

"Since I won't be there to tell you when you graduate," Mila whispered, rubbing his back affectionately. "Congrats, Lieutenant. Fly high for me."

Calo smiled. "I will."

Mila nodded, looking over her little brother's shoulder at her parents. How they looked now – Senatorial robes swapped out for simple civilian clothes – was how she liked them best. Suddenly overcome with emotion, she dropped her arms from her brother's sides and threw them around her parents at the same time, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

Not matter how much they may have disagreed on current events, she always had a hard time leaving them behind.

"I'll miss you both," she murmured shakily.

She heard her father hum empathetically. "We'll miss you too, sweetheart," he replied, kissing the side of her head.

"We are so, _so_ proud of you, Mila," her mother said, putting her small hands on Mila's shoulders as she pulled back. Her dark eyes smiled sadly. "You've always been the brave one. Don't you _ever_ lose that."

Mila grinned, nodding slowly. The rest of her men congregated around the base of the transport behind them, and she took a deep breath, pulling her duffel onto her shoulders and turning to meet them. One last time, she looked over her shoulder at her family.

"I love you guys," she called, her voice shaking a bit with suppressed emotion.

"We love you, too," they replied.

Mila's father smiled. "Now go do what you love, little one. We'll be here waiting when you get back."

Mila smiled and nodded, heading towards the transport. The others around her started to file in, stashing their bags under the seats as they talked to one another. Wex and Darren moved past her and settled in. She took a deep breath, steeling herself as she watched them.

She could do this, she told herself. She could—

Someone tapped on her shoulder, gently tugging her out of her worried thoughts. When she found Kit behind her and the rest of Rapier Squadron coming towards her, her heart swelled. She glanced at Rapier One over Kit's shoulder.

 _So that's what he was up to. He went to go get them_.

"Don't you even think about blowing this rock before saying goodbye to me, doc," Kit grinned, holding his arms out to her.

Mila laughed, throwing her arms around her friend's neck and smiling as the rest of Rapier came in around her. She may not have known them for quite as long as she'd known others, but they were quickly becoming her second family.

"We'll be sure to keep him out of trouble," Iolo reassured, giving the medic a quick hug. He nodded towards Poe. "Both of them."

"Wish us luck," Karé smirked.

Poe scoffed, grinning. Mila chuckled. Turning to Karé and Muran, she embraced them both.

"Good luck, Mila," Muran said, a small smile stretching across his usually stern face. Mila grinned at him.

Transport engines roared behind her, blowing her hair around in the wind they created. Mila's shoulders sagged.

"Guess that's my cue," she sighed.

Her eyes met Poe's, and she tried to smile at him. Tears looming in the backs of her eyes, she cannoned into his arms, burying her face into the shoulder of his flight suit. She pulled back far enough to lean back in for one last kiss, reveling in its taste for as long as she could.

"Remember what I told you," Poe whispered, holding the side of her face in his hand so she'd look up at him. "When you get back, I'll be here waiting for you. I promise."

Mila smiled, a tear rolling down her cheek as she nodded.

"Be brave, sweet girl. I'll see you soon."

Hesitantly she stepped back, re-shouldering her duffel and blaster rifle as she headed up the gangplank.

"And Mila?"

She paused, her lips parting as she looked at him over her shoulder.

Poe's face softened. "May the Force be with you."

One last time, Mila smiled at him, taking him in as the rising sun warmed his features. The confident half-smile, the reassuring gleam in his eye, the wind ruffling his dark, wavy hair as the morning light intensified the orange of his flight suit. This was how she got to remember him. And this was what would be waiting for her when she returned, she reminded herself as she sat down next to a window.

She spotted him on the permacrete as the transport lifted off, surrounded by his squadron. And as Poe and Hosnian Prime disappeared below her, she was reminded of his stalwart words:

 _I'm not saying it's going to be easy… but it sure as hell's gonna be worth it_.

He couldn't have been more right.


	20. It'll Be Our Turn Soon

_Chapter 20: It'll Be Our Turn Soon_

When Rapier had said the cold was suffocating, they hadn't been kidding.

The second the transport's gangplank dropped against the frozen permacrete, Hoth's freezing gloaming air zapped the breath from Mila's lungs. Almost instantly her hands began to shake. After fumbling for her duffel and blaster rifle under the seats in front of her, she took a deep breath and stepped out into Old Echo Base's main hangar.

As she took in her surroundings, she felt as if she'd gone back in time. A tauntaun brayed as it bounded out into the snow behind her, tossing its horned head as its rider quickly gathered the reins. Old blasterfire burn marks still scarred the hangar's roof. Just inside the hangar door – a gaping cave-mouth that offered little view of the rolling hills of snow outside – were several vintage T-47 snowspeeders. Mila couldn't help but smile when she spotted them.

_What did Poe do the first time he saw those?_

Mila chuckled. She could just see him in her mind's eye jogging up to the side of one, a grin sprawled across his face. Eyes wide with wonder, he and his squad would walk around their bases as the names of the legendary Rogue Squadron passed through their lips in astonished whispers. Luke Skywalker could have stood in that very spot. Or Han Solo. Or Leia Organa.

Mila froze, suddenly awestruck.

The history of the place – the stories of the heroes that had passed through its fabled halls – certainly could stop one in their tracks. So swept away in her imagination was she that she jumped when she felt a hand grasp her shoulder.

"Lot to take in, Lieutenant?" the warmth in Sundar's voice was tinged with amusement.

Mila cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed at having gawked like a child. Sundar chuckled.

"Tell your men to fall in for inspection and conditioning," he ordered softly. "You've got some new recruits to break in. Then you are to report to me at 1500 this afternoon. You'll be getting the rest of your platoon's assignments then."

Mila nodded. "Yes, sir."

Sundar smiled. "Glad I have you for this one, Criss," he said, clapping her on the back as he walked away. "We were losing our minds without you last time."

Though the colonel's words had been meant as a compliment, a frown sank into Mila's face as she watched him go. What if 'this time' ended just as badly as Dantooine had? What if it, Force forbid, was worse? There could be anything – anyone - lurking in the concealment of the snow, and—

 _No_ , Mila firmly told herself. _That's the cold and the distance talking_.

A shivering hand wrapping around her duffel's strap as Mila made her way farther into the base. Her breath clouded in front of her. The dimly lit tunnels of packed snow and ice she passed through seemed to close in around her the deeper in she went. The cold, dry air stung her lungs. Despite the heavy coat that sat around her shoulders, she shivered violently. She had only been underground for a few minutes and was already pining for Hosnian's warmth and sunlight.

Finally the hallway opened up into the base's main control room, which was scattered with new arrivals who were, like Mila, trying to find their way. After a brief discussion – none of which she remembered afterwards – she made her way to her new living quarters. Hesitantly she plugged in the lock code at the door and stood in the threshold for a few minutes after the door hissed open, frowning.

The room was standard size and layout, almost exactly the same as her quarters back home. Only the walls were made of solid ice and the window – if it could even be called one – was a little more than a ship's porthole. Like almost everywhere else on base, it was relatively dim and overwhelmingly, distractingly cold.

Once she had everything unpacked and laid out, she tried to tell herself, it would feel a little more like home. With a grunt she dropped her duffel off her back and onto her new bed and yanked back the zipper.

Poe's blanket, still folded the way he had handed it to her, stared at her from the opening. Gingerly she lifted it out, Poe's sweet scent overwhelming her senses as she wrapped herself up in it. A lump formed in her throat as her eyes drifted out the window to a solitary gold star. Being away from him, being away from her family. It all hit her at once. Though she scolded herself for it, she softly began to cry.

This was going to be a long three years.

* * *

 _He just looks like the life's been zapped out of him_.

From where she sat on the nose of her fighter, Karé watched her commanding officer unenthusiastically tinker with a bundle of landing gear wires for what seemed like the one-hundredth time that night. An exhausted frown was wrought into his face. Bags hung heavily under his tired eyes. Everything around him seemed, for a lack of a better word, deflated. The small holo that they had brought out to the flight line with them droned monotonously in the background. Even BB-8 was dispirited, rolling around as if he hadn't seen the good end of a power charger in several years.

Karé had been able to keep count of the days since Mila had left – a little over a month – but she could tell that for Poe they had all run together in a gruelingly monotonous string. There had been little word from Hoth – when Mila could get a hold of him it was never for long – and Karé knew that that bothered him.

Over the past month, other squadrons around them had pulled out and moved to other bases along the Unknown Regions. Some had even passed into it. A large part of her hoped that when Deso sent them off on whatever wild bantha chase he had in the works, it would liven Poe's spirits some. Even if it did turn into another space-debris blasting competition. But for now, she could only hope that she and the rest of the squad could somehow pick him back up again.

"You doing alright, Commander?" Karé finally broke the silence. "You don't quite seem like yourself."

Through the weariness in his face, Poe actually smiled a bit and nodded. "I'm good, Two" he sighed. "Just tired."

Rapier's lieutenants exchanged glances. Every time they had asked, Poe had said that exact same thing. It wasn't entirely a lie; he truly was spent. But something else, something deeper than enervation, was what really weighed him down.

Tired, deep brown eyes steadily peered into the sky, fixed on a distant, pale-blue star system.

Kit frowned empathetically. He'd dealt with his fair share of long-distance – leaving Aly behind was always the worst part of any deployment – but even he was at a loss for words. Defeated, he turned towards the holo and listened to the reporter detachedly ramble on about the thousands of recent deployments. With a little huff, he stood and turned it off with a click.

"It'll be our turn soon," Poe suddenly broke the silence.

Kit's brow furrowed. "Huh?"

"Deso's still got some details to work out with on high," Poe explained, rolling out from underneath his fighter with a grunt, "but we'll be getting our own orders in the next couple of days." A small, dry smile cracked across his face. "Wonder how much fuel we're gonna wind up wasting _this_ time?"

Soft laughter rippled across the permacrete.

"You have any clue where we're going, Poe?" Iolo asked.

Poe shook his head. "Deso didn't say. But he did reassure me that Karé won't be getting frostbite this trip."

Karé groaned. Kit elbowed her in the ribs, chuckling wickedly.

"He also said that if this thing flies, we'd be making history."

"Sounds like a big deal," Iolo said.

"Better not be," Muran said bluntly. "We've had our fair share of excitement." He frowned. "I don't need any more of you dropping on me."

"And who said any of us would?" Kit said, putting a hand on Muran's shoulder. He smiled reassuringly. "Deso said he was going to work us back in slowly, and I think he will. It can't be anything _that_ crazy."

Poe's face fell. Though he appreciated Kit's optimism, he wasn't in a position to believe it. His eyes drifted to the sky again. "I sure hope not."

* * *

"To be honest," Mila confessed to the holo screen, "if I see one more frostbite case, I am going to punch a wall."

A grin cracked across Poe's face as he quietly laughed. "That bad, huh?"

"Yeah." Softly she groaned, running a shivering hand through her hair. "I don't know how much more of it I can take," she said, inwardly cringing as her breath fogged in front of her. "We're all pretty miserable." She heaved a little sigh and pulled the blanket a little closer around her, getting it close enough that his scent floated up her nose. "I miss you so much."

Poe smiled empathetically. "I miss you too, sweetheart."

"One month down. Only thirty-five to go." She hadn't meant to sound completely hopeless, but even to her own ears she did.

Poe nodded, his jaw setting stalwartly. "We can do this."

"I hope so."

"I _know_ so." Poe sounded so sure that Mila couldn't help but grin. His steadiness baffled her.

"You wait and see, doc," he went on, smiling encouragingly. "One day we'll be able to look back on this and say, 'Damn. We made it.'"

Mila's face softened longingly. "I just wish that day were now."

Poe sighed. "So do I." His eyes dropped from the screen as silence momentarily grasped him. Mila's brow furrowed.

"Deso's got something in the works with the higher-ups," Poe said solemnly. "I don't know what it is or where we'll be, but I thought I'd give you a heads up."

"You know when you leave? Or how long you'll be gone?"

Poe shook his head. "I'll let you know as soon as I can. Not sure how much I'll be able to tell you. So far everything's classified."

Mila frowned. Such heavy guard over a mission wasn't something that came along frequently, and when it did, it meant that failure could have serious ramifications. Her heart dropped as her mind reeled with worried possibilities. They couldn't be passing into First Order territory; Command would be violating the Concordance to do so.

Or, at least, to do so _publically_.

"You don't think it's anything too serious, do you?" she asked, trying to force a neutral tone and failing.

Poe shrugged. "We'll find out," he said. The look in his eyes said he would have reached out and grabbed her hand had he been there to do it. "But I don't want you to worry about it, alright? Not gonna do you any good. When I know something, I'll tell you. But until then, don't let yourself get worked up over it. It'll make you miserable."

Something in his tone told Mila the commander was speaking from experience. Slowly she nodded, letting her eyes trace over the holograph of his face. She found herself wishing – not for the first time – that she could reach out and touch it. Run her fingers along his jaw and through his hair, search his eyes and smile as he bent and kissed her forehead. Softly she sighed, dropping her gaze.

Poe's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Nothing," Mila murmured. "I just…." She blew out a little breath, the starts of a smile tugging at her mouth. "Maybe they'll station you guys out here. Maybe things won't have to be like this for much longer." She laughed wistfully. "Wishful thinking, I know. But _man_ it would be nice."

"Yeah," Poe nodded, his eyes searching hers from miles away. "It would be." He turned his head to look out his window as a smile crept across his face. "I can see you," he said. "Little white dot on the horizon, hiding behind the streetlights."

"It's too damn far," Mila moaned. "And for too damn long,"

Poe nodded. "That's the truth. But we're—" he squinted off to the side of the screen, quickly reading something "—thirty-five months, two days, and seven and a half hours closer than we were yesterday. Not that I'm counting or anything."

A grin burst across Mila's face as she laughed. Despite the cold around her, a new warmth spread through her entire body, one that she only remembered feeling a number of times. Once when she first met him, once on that overlook all those nights ago, once right after he had made her his. And once right now, as all of those feelings rose up in tandem and threatened to make her heart explode. One day she might find the words to describe it – she guessed the explanation would be bafflingly simple once she found it – but for now, the flutter in her chest could remain anonymous.

Besides, Poe'd always been better with words. He'd probably say it first.

"But really," Poe went on. "It may be going slow, but at least it's going."

Mila nodded, smiling.

"Hang in there, sweetheart. I know it's tough. Trust me. It is for me too." He eyed her longingly. "But I know it'll be worth the wait. Don't ask me how I know; I just do. It just… makes sense somehow. _You_ make sense. I've never been able to say that about anyone else. I don't really know how to describe it. It's…."

His voice trailed off, his eyes lowering and his brow furrowing as he groped for the right words. For a second he seemed as though he'd found them, but they died on his tongue the second he tried to speak them.

"Poe?" she asked.

Poe smiled, briefly shaking his head. "Lost my train of thought." A hint of defeat rested in his deep brown irises, the kind that said he'd held something back and now regretted it. "It's late. They'll want you early in the morning, doc. You should probably get some rest."

Mila nodded, yawning.

"You take care of yourself, alright?"

Mila's face softened. "I will."

Poe smiled. "That's my girl. Talk to you later."

"Bye," Mila whispered, and his picture flickered from sight.

Now, she wondered, what in the worlds had he tried to tell her?

* * *

Waiting outside Republic Command was never exactly fun, but for whatever reason, Kit was downright terrified. As he stood in front of the doors, it suddenly hit him that the last time he had been there, Rapier Squadron – a much bigger Rapier Squadron – had received an emergency distress signal from Dantooine and had to cut the meeting short because of it. Only a few hours later, he had nearly lost his life.

Hopefully this next trip – wherever it wound up taking them – wouldn't end so horribly.

Durasteel doors hissed open in front of him, and he took a big breath. Karé rubbed his back as she came past.

"'Bout time we found out what all the fuss is about, huh baby face?" she said with a reassuring smile.

Kit grinned and followed, feeling a little more at ease. Slowly he came into the conference room and stood at the end of a long, narrow table. Major Deso smiled the second he saw him.

"Damn good to have you back, Rapier Five," the major said, clapping him on the shoulder and shaking his hand. "You definitely gave us a good scare."

Kit grinned. "Good to be back, sir."

"Go ahead and sit, Lieutenant. We've got a lot to talk about."

Hesitantly Kit pulled up a chair and sat down. Deso came around to the head of the table, leaning on the heels of his hands and eyeing the Rapiers to make sure he had their absolute attention. Nodding a little bit, he started to speak again.

"Now I know you all have probably been wondering why General Antilles hasn't spit you all out into the Unknown Regions at this point. Had me scratching my head, too, but something told me he was holding you all for something important. I was right."

He tapped a control on the table, and a holographic map of the galaxy sprang to life in the middle of the room. Kit leaned forward a little to get a better look.

"We've got troops stationed on every one of star systems bordering the Unknown Regions that's got a base on it. You all know we're watching it closely. Between Bespin and Old Echo Base, we've got more than enough on the border to defend if anything should try to come through."

Poe and Deso briefly exchanged glances. Deso went on.

"But Command still wants to get closer, to spread out. They want more eyes on the skies, and to do that, we had to venture outside our comfort zone a little."

His steely eyes drifted around the room. Kit sat up a little straighter.

"In the days after the Dantooine attacks," Deso explained, "the Senate sent a team of envoys to Rattatak, an independent world between New Republic space and the Unknown Regions, to negotiate terms for a sort of occupation. Now you know the Rattataki aren't terribly fond of outsiders. They're extremely mistrusting. Most of the tribes we tried to speak with either flatly turned us down or tried to kill us. It's been that way for thousands of years; they don't usually help anyone outside of their own kind, and even then they're still picky. But we were able to reach an agreement with one of the smaller tribes. They'll let us build a base on their land if we help them keep that land safe."

Stunned silence gripped the room. Kit felt his jaw drop a little bit.

"So, in other words," Deso finished, "you all will be some of the first outsiders to come into serious contact with the Rattataki for the first time in several thousand years. You're making galactic history."

Kit's voice was still breathy from shock. "How the hell'd they pull that one off?"

"The same way you fit a warhead to a proton torpedo," Deso replied wryly. He chuckled. "Very, _very_ carefully."

Kit's eyes bugged as he nodded. "No kidding."

"So what will we be doing while we're out there?" Karé asked.

"Humanitarian work, mostly," Deso replied. "Supply drops, patrols. That and new lieutenant training. You've got a green* mixed squadron that's going with you, all freshly graduated. Any fighting you do – if you do any at all – will be over quick. More like glorified target practice than anything. Even the best Rattataki raiding party is incredibly primitive by our standards. They've only recently started carrying blasters. They'd be no match for a good X-wing pilot let alone a whole squad of them."

Karé nodded, relief shining in her eyes.

"I told you I was gonna give you something light after Dantooine, Lieutenant Kun," Deso reassured. "I don't go back on my word."

"Then why all the secrecy?" Poe put it. "Seems a little tight-lipped for just humanitarian aid."

Deso's face darkened. "There are some in the Senate who think that if word of this new base were to get into unwanted hands, bad things could happen. Things similar to those on Dantooine." He frowned. "We're not about to risk reliving that cluster bomb again. So when you leave, you're to tell no one where you're going. Don't even say the sector. Hell, it may be smart to just keep your mouths shut all together. We get any wrong eyes on us and it could end _very_ badly."

The Rapiers all exchanged nervous glances.

Deso's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "This base will be the closest to First Order territory that we have ever stationed any of our own men long-term. If they find out we're watching them this closely…."

His voice trailed off, and he frowned deeply. "You all know too well what happens next."

Kit's heart thumped hard in his chest. Poe's face hardened. Karé and Iolo exchanged glances. Muran scowled.

"You and the others are pulling out tomorrow morning at 0600," Deso said. "You won't get back for another three years. I wish I could've given you more of a heads-up, but it is what it is."

Poe's eyes dampened with defeat. _That adds another month,_ he thought sullenly. _How the hell do I tell her?_

"250th Pathfinders are going with you," Deso went on. "As well as a brand new med unit. You'll be getting more arrivals once the base is built, mostly greens. You're gonna help them get into the swing of things."

The Rapiers solemnly nodded. Deso took a step back and clicked off the map.

"That's all I've got for you," he said. A proud smile found its way to the corners of his lips. "It's good to have you back, Rapier Squadron. Good luck, and may the Force be with you."

 

Simultaneously the squadron all rose from their seats, filing towards the door. Watching his friends go out in front of him, Poe had just made it to the threshold when his name was called. He turned, and the door shut behind him.

Deso stepped forward, clasping his hands behind his back and bowing his head in a way that suggested that what he was about to say might not be received. A frown wrought his aging face.

"I have... another mission for you, Commander," Deso disclosed, putting a hand on Poe's shoulder as he walked towards the back of the room. "These pilots are exceptional. I haven't seen so much fresh talent in one spot since... well, since you and Kun and Arana walked over a decade ago." His voice dropped to a sullen whisper. "Talent that Rapier Squadron is in _dire_ need of."

Poe's brow furrowed. He had a feeling he knew what the major was getting at. Since Rapier's first losses on Daxam IV several months back, he'd known this day was coming.

Honestly, he'd been trying not to think about it. But now that the word was leaving his mouth, its meaning stung twice as much:

"Replacements."

Now, seven of his closest friends were truly gone.

"You don't have to tell the others until you think they are ready," Deso continued. "But as squadron leader, I want you to keep an eye out. Watch your pilots. See who out of the greens they get along with; who, if any, they don't. By the end of your first year, have a list of names ready for review."

Shock ran rampant through Poe's body, crashing down on his shoulders and doubling the weight that was already there. He swallowed. "Yes, sir."

Deso nodded. "You're dismissed, Commander."

Slowly Poe headed for the door, clenching his jaw and straightening his posture. No matter what, he thought, the others couldn't know. Not yet. And if he walked up to them looking like he'd just trudged out of a graveyard, they would see right through him. They knew him far too well. No doubt they would start asking questions. Questions that he, frankly, was not prepared to answer.

But, then again, the First Order wasn't waiting for him to be.

* * *

_*Military terms/abbreviations_

_Green - unexperienced. A green soldier has very little to no field/combat experience._


	21. Rattatak

_Chapter 21: Rattatak_

The inside of a cruiser – the smell of polished durasteel, the constant activity, the persistent chill – had always been one of Kit's favorite places. From the inside of his darkened quarters, he liked to sit on the edge of his cot and watch the hypnotizing swirl of hyperspace zip past him. The young pilot smiled. If there was one thing he adored about his job, it was the travel. He was almost twenty, and he'd already seen more places that most people three times his age could only ever dream about. Now, he mused, he got to go somewhere where Republic citizens, old and new alike, had never been to. He got to dump Rattataki sand out of his flight boots every night. He got to make history.

He just wished he didn't have to leave her behind to do it.

"You still there?" Aly's voice came through his comm.

Kit grinned. "Course I am. Best thing I can do right now."

Aly's laugh bounced through the comm and across the room. Kit's face softened wistfully. If only he could see the sweet smile that went with that laugh – he knew exactly the one – in person.

"How long is it gonna take you to get there?" Aly asked.

"A while. It's on the other side of the Core, Aly."

"Yikes. That's a haul."

Kit shrugged. "Little bit, yeah." A small smile found its way to his face. "Gives me more time to talk, though. We made the jump five minutes ago and I miss the hell out of you already."

Aly sighed. "I miss you too, baby." She sighed shakily. "Look, I know you'll probably be fine and that this is nothing to worry about and that I'm probably getting ahead of myself, but you got _so_ close last time, and—"

"Aly," Kit chuckled sympathetically. A soft smile stretched across his face. "Breathe. It's gonna be okay."

Aly sighed loudly. "Just… come back to me, alright?"

"I will," Kit replied, watching the swirl of the hyperspace tunnel jet past his window with a peacefully resolute gleam in his eye. "I promise."

* * *

Indigo morning light trickled in through her small window as Mila dragged herself from the warmth of her bed and put her feet on the ground. A chill shot up her spine as she reached for her datapad. Shivering fingers looked to turn on the screen. Squinting from the brightness of light as it tried to fill the small room, Mila read her orders for the day.

Of which, when she saw them, made her shoulders sag in dread.

_SpecForces Med and Evac – Physical Evaluation and Training._

Mila sighed. "Looks like you're up, Lieutenant."

She knew she had new recruits to break in. From day one, Sundar had told her that the majority of this deployment would be spent training soldiers. The first month had been spent on orientation: reviewing basic tactics and formation maneuvers. The next several months would involve the backbreaking, vomit-inducing physical training that the unit was famous for.

"Pathfinders are fast," she'd heard said and had said herself a thousand times before. "We have to be faster."

The following days determined who out of the greens was fit for the job and who would break under the pressure. The right people – the strongest, the fastest, the toughest – made the cut. Those that failed would return to Hosnian Prime and join back up with their old units. Some would even take on civilian jobs. Only a select few had been crazy enough to try to get in a second time. A third time was absolutely unheard of. But that was exactly what Mila had done, and her superior officers had never let her forget it.

There was no doubt in her mind that Sundar was proud to have her in his ranks. Krell – since day one of her first round of training – let her know the exact opposite. Mila sighed.

 _She's got more important things to do than make your life miserable, Lieutenant,_ she told herself. _Maybe today she'll back off._

Frowning, she reached for her combat boots and laced them up. She pulled her coat over her shoulders, smoothing down the wampa fur lining on the hood and straightening the officer's pin on her collar. She stood up straighter. Her jaw hardened determinedly.

Krell had probably told them otherwise, but Mila would prove to her recruits that being a part of her platoon was nothing to sniff at. That _she_ , despite being the smallest and, according to Krell, the weakest officer in battalion, was nothing to sniff at, either.

 _Besides_ , she thought. _I worked too damn hard for them to think anything else_.

Taking a deep breath to steady her growing nerves, Mila started towards the door—only to have her comm start beeping in her pocket. She frowned and monotonously answered.

"Lieutenant Criss."

"Hey, doc," a familiar voice softly greeted from the other side.

"Hey!" Mila enthusiastically replied, a smile bursting across her worried face. "Your timing's impeccable."

Poe chuckled. "Why? You just get off or something?"

"No. I just…." Her voice trailed off. "It's gonna be a _long_ day."

Poe hummed empathetically. "Lot of that going around."

Even through the comm, he sounded tired and worried. Mila's brow furrowed.

"You going to get your orders today?" she asked.

"Already got them, sweetheart. As a matter of fact… I'm on a cruiser right now. This whole thing was really short notice. You know how it can be."

Mila nodded. "Where you headed?"

"Classified. Can't tell you. If I could have, Mil, I would have by now. Command doesn't want word getting out just yet."

He grew silent in a way that weighted whatever he might say next. Mila swallowed.

"They told us at the briefing that if anyone… _not_ _friendly_ … got wind of this, of what's about to happen, it would end really, _really_ badly." His voice dropped. "They don't want another Dantooine."

Mila felt her back go rigid. "Yeah," she said dismally, the fear and the horror of the aftermath of the attacks suddenly rushing back to her. "We don't." She paused. "How long will you be gone?"

Poe sighed. "Three years from today."

The news socked Mila in the gut. She blinked. _What?_

"That adds another month," she whispered dejectedly, her shoulders sagging. "We just backtracked…."

"I know, sweetheart," Poe replied, sounding every bit as frustrated as she did. "I know. "

"What about comms? That getting affected at all?"

"I get one off-world a month. I can't send out any holographic communications at all. Command's afraid someone could see the background and figure out where we are."

Mila squeezed her eyes shut, pinching her nose between her thumb and her index finger.

 _Why?_ she thought. _Of all people, why the hell does this have to happen to us?_

"But there is one thing I _can_ tell you, Mil," Poe went on, his voice gentling. Mila could just see the reassuring gleam in his eye as he spoke:

"Don't worry about me. Whatever you do. And more importantly, don't worry about us, alright?"

The familiar sureness in his voice made Mila smile despite herself.

"Yeah, it's a setback, and yeah it's pretty damn tough, but I still haven't lost faith in you. I don't think I ever will. I know you're fighting for this just as hard as I am. You don't give up easily. I love that about you."

Mila's grin widened.

"Where are you now?" Poe asked, his voice still soft. Something in his tone told her that he had something up his sleeve. "You close to a window?"

"Yeah," Mila replied, her brow furrowing a little. "Why?"

"We just came out of hyperspace." The way he paused let Mila picture the grin that had just shot across his face. "We're just outside of Hoth's orbit. I can see Old Echo from space."

Mila's breath shortened. "Really?"

"Yeah. If you're looking out a window, you might be able to see us passing over."

Her heart pounding, Mila ran over to her window and peered out. Hazel eyes scanned through the waning morning stars, stopping on a little white dot that steadily cut between the glowing lines of borealis skyfire.

"I see you," she said breathlessly, a smile forming on her lips even as a lump formed in the back of her throat. Her tired voice rose excitedly. "Poe, I see you!"

Poe sounded just as ecstatic as she did. "You do?"

"Yeah!" She could have laughed and cried all at once. A soft, wistful moan moved through her lips as her fingers longingly pressed up against the transparisteel.

"You're so _close_ ," she murmured. "You sure you can't just pop down here long enough to say hello?"

Poe chuckled. "I wish," he replied. "Though they're smart keeping me up here like this." His voice dropped mellifluously. "If I came down long enough to hold you, I might not come back up again."

Mila softly chortled, her heart swelling. "If only…."

As her eyes tracked the cruiser across the sky, her lips parted into a soft smile. Though the distance between them still stung, it had made her feelings for him that much stronger. She wished she were brave enough to put a name to them.

"I miss you so much, Poe," she murmured.

"I miss you too, sweetheart. Like hell." He started to say something more, but the brief beep of an alarm cut him short.

"That's my cue," Poe said. The excited lilt in his voice had faded. He sighed. "Take care of yourself, sweetheart."

Mila smiled. "I will."

She could hear him shuffling into his life support vest from the other side of the comm. BB-8 warbled in the background.

Wherever he was going, whatever his mission was, she knew the time was now.

"Hey," she said.

He paused.

Mila's eyes softened. "May the Force be with you, Poe," she whispered. The cruiser faded from sight. "Wherever you are."

* * *

The walk down the hallway to the hangar had never seemed so long.

His helmet tucked under his arm and his squad at his back, Poe tried to make sense of what he was about to face. Truth was, no one knew for certain what they were going to find once they got down there.

All he knew was that, whether or not he would admit it to himself, he was terrified.

After Poe had set himself up in the cockpit, BB-8 warbled at him unsurely. The little droid pivoted behind him in the astromech socket, giving Poe a look that called the pilot's sanity into question.

Poe chuckled uneasily. "I don't write the orders, buddy," he said with a wry grin as he flicked a few controls. "I'm just told to execute them."

BB-8 responded with an indignant series of beeps.

Poe had to laugh. "I'm not gonna let them turn you to scrap, buddy. I promise."

"Can you say that for the rest of us?" Karé's voice cut through the comms as the Rapier's engines shrieked to life around them. "Sure would be comforting."

Poe shook his head, a grin briefly flashing across his face. "We're gonna be fine, Karé. I don't think they'd be sending us out here unless they knew we could do this."

"I hope you're right, sir," Kit piped up. "Last time Command said we'd be okay—"

"I know," Poe cut him off. "But this isn't last time. We're not—" he stopped, considering his next words with a sigh."—we're not fighting for our lives against a rogue band of cloaked TIE fighters, Five. This isn't a fight. It's the last step in a negotiation. No First Order in sight."

His fighter lifted off from the durasteel floor, gliding towards the open hangar doors.

"All wings, report in."

"Rapier Two, standing by."

"Rapier Three, standing by."

"Rapier Four, standing by."

"Rapier Five, standing by."

Looking over his shoulder, Poe spotted a troop transport emerging from the hangar behind him. Almost immediately the X-wings all fell into formation around it.

Rattatak – which glowed a sun-like orange-gold – suddenly rose up in front of him as the weightlessness of space cradled his fighter. His heart thumped hard in his chest. His gloved hand wrapped tighter around the stick. Fixing his eyes on the planet in front of him, the commander took a deep, steadying breath.

Force only knew what they'd find down there. He just hoped they were prepared to face it.

* * *

Wispy clouds broke like thin plumes of white smoke as the Rapiers cut through Rattatak's arid atmosphere and into a bright, mid-afternoon sky. Craggy, red-rocked mesas dotted the seemingly endless sea of sand that sprawled out below them. Mirage warped the air, blurring the horizon as they cut across the desert towards their target: the base of a long mountain range that wound across the sand like a spine-backed snake.

Squinting into the bright desert sun, Poe spotted the black, gaping mouth of a cave. Tents littered the ground in front of it, among a few more permanent structures hewn from the over-abundant red rock. BB-8 warbled a question as they neared it.

"Yep, that's it," Poe affirmed. "All teams decelerate and prepare to land."

His fighter slowed to a near stop under his touch, hovering in a straight line towards the ground and kicking sand up and over the cockpit. BB-8, who didn't appreciate the extra grit zipping through his circuits, whined in dismay. Despite the dread that steadily mounted within him, Poe allowed himself a small chuckle.

"Hold on, buddy. It'll settle once we touch down."

Landing gear ground into the sand; hydraulics hissed as the X-wing relaxed into the sand. Poe worked his hands out of his flight gauntlets and set them by the stick before reaching up and taking off his helmet. Shaking his tousled hair free, he released the seat restraints and pulled his life support vest over the top of his head, setting it in the floor by his feet.

By now the miniature sand storm he and the squad had created had been chased off by the wind, and he could actually see his surroundings. Most of the tents were close to the ground and made of a thick, canvas-like material. Nothing but the wind moved between them. The cave's mouth – which looked to be almost one hundred meters tall – loomed in the distance, a black hole surrounded by mounds of jagged red.

The troop transport's gangplank slammed into the sand behind them. BB-8 warbled impatiently.

"Yeah, buddy," Poe acknowledged, thumbing for the astromech release. "Right behind you."

Poe grunted as he popped open the canopy and stiffly stood, swaying under the sudden severe impact of the heat. Squinting, he swung his legs out of the side of the cockpit and dropped to the ground. BB-8 rolled to his side, trilling in sassed complaint.

"Don't talk to me about hot, buddy," Poe shot back. "Flight suit's thick." He went around to the back of his fighter to blow the sand out of his quad engines. "One thing's for sure, little guy," he went on, tugging at the his collar, "the next time we wind up on a desert planet, I won't be in this thing."

"Geez," Karé exclaimed with a loud sigh, wiping the sweat that had already formed on her brow with her sleeve. Her dark eyes peered into the distance. "When they said it was hot, sir, they weren't kidding."

Poe smirked. "Take back what you said about frying on a desert world, Two?"

Karé suppressed a smile glared at him. "Shut up."

"Commander Dameron!" someone called.

Poe looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Colonel," he greeted as Jaren jogged up beside him. "Was glad to hear you were joining us for this bantha chase. How are you?"

Jaren chuckled dryly. "Hot."

"Makes two of us."

"Three," Karé cut in.

"Four," Kit added, walking up. "Anybody have any clue what we're we getting ourselves into?"

Jaren shook his head. "Only thing Command told me was they don't speak Basic and they're scary as hell." A wry grin cracked across the soldier's face. "So no, Lieutenant. Nothing new to report." His brow furrowed as he eyed the young pilot. "Anderon, right?"

Kit nodded.

"Jaren Criss," the Pathfinder smiled, shaking Kit's hand. "Heard a lot about you on our last field trip. Good to finally meet you."

"Good to be back," Kit replied. He eyed Karé with a mischievous grin. "Hey," he whispered to her. "It's the Big _Sandy_ Ball of Suck."

Karé laughed. "Going down that road again, are we baby face?"

Kit gave her a look. "The Sandbox of Doom."

"Ooh! That's a good one!"

The two pilots carried on. Poe opened his mouth to contribute, but his eye caught three tall, shadowed figures moving across the sand towards them. His brow furrowing, he took a cautious step forward as the silhouettes took more solid forms. All three were bald and clad in flowing black that stopped right at the knee and end of the shoulder. Black leather sandals laced up their legs. Jet tattoos gyrated across their ashen white faces and heads, making their striking grey eyes even more penetrating. Facial piercings glinted in the sunlight. The leader made eye contact with him, and Poe was suddenly unsure of which glare was more severe: that of the sun or that from the frontrunner's glowering scowl.

"Guys," he whispered, gaping slightly. Neither Kit nor Karé heard him.

"Karé," he tried again, his voice hardening authoritatively. "Kit."

"What?" Karé, who was still laughing to herself, asked as she turned around. "You think of—"

The words died on her tongue as soon as she saw who was nearing them. Her dark eyes widened.

"Oh."

"Pathfinders!" Jaren barked behind them. "Fall in!"

Boots shuffled through the sand behind them, but Poe barely noticed. Caught somewhere between fascination and horror, he watched the Rattataki tribesmen come closer. Poe cleared his throat and squared his broad shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height. It wasn't much to begin with anyway, but next to the approaching Rattataki, he felt like an ant. He probably looked like one.

The one in the front – whom Poe noticed had more delicate features and a more slender build than the other two – still fixed him with that hostile stare as they neared. He – no, _she_ , the pilot corrected himself – carried herself with a regal air that her companions lacked. Though she was the smallest of the three, her presence made her seem far larger. She eyed the newcomers with a sharp, disapproving stare that intensified as she approached.

Whoever she was, Poe thought, she must have been important.

"Go find that protocol droid, Skid," Jaren hastily directed to one of his men. "We need him. Now."

Skid turned wordlessly back towards the transport.

"You are small," the Rattataki said suddenly. A thick desert accent laced her voice. "You are weak. And now you are _late_." Her striking eyes flashed like lightning. "Pray that the _laudan_ shows you mercy."

Jaren gaped. "You speak Basic."

The Rattataki eyed him coolly. "How observant," she quipped. The glare she shot the Pathfinder left him feeling like he'd shrunk several inches.

The guards behind her folded their arms intimidatingly across their broad chests, drawing their shoulders up to their full, towering height. As intimidated as he now was, Poe stood his ground, fixing the Rattataki with a calm, resolute stare of his own.

It was then he noticed the long purple scar that ran across her eye and down past her jaw. He wondered what had given it to her.

"Come," the she said curtly. "He is waiting."

She started back towards the village, the harsh sunlight bouncing on the long knives that hung from her belt. Without a word Poe went after her.

It took him a few steps to realize that he wasn't being followed.

"Now or never," he said simply, without turning around. "Come on."

Exchanging nervous glances, Karé and Iolo stepped forward. Jaren and a handful of his best men followed. A troubled frown deepening his face, Muran joined them.

"I don't like this," he grunted bluntly.

"And yet, it's gotta happen," Poe replied. "As long as we stick together and don't make them mad, we'll be fine." He looked over his shoulder. "Kit?"

Kit didn't respond. The young pilot stared over their heads towards the roof of the cave opening, wide-eyed and gaping.

"Yes sir," the lieutenant nodded breathlessly, coming up alongside Muran. He nodded towards the cave ceiling. "Emphasis on the 'don't make them mad' part."

Poe turned and looked where Rapier Five's eyes pointed, and instantly his stomach lurched. Something was hanging from the ceiling.

Something that strongly resembled a dead body.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Poe blew out a long breath to steady himself. "Stay with me," he ordered, his tone low and firm.

The commander started forwards again as if nothing was out of the ordinary, the others in tow. Kit sighed. _That_ was why Poe was squadron leader, because even if something did shake him, he never let it show. He had a perpetual knack for concealing it.

Kit most certainly didn't. He and Muran exchanged glances.

"If I die," he said, "tell Aly I love her."

Muran nodded, wordlessly gripping Kit's shoulder and leading him towards the rest of the squad.

* * *

The deeper into the village the Rattataki brought them, the more uneasy Poe became. The next tribesman was always bigger and angrier than the last one. Behind every dark corner, from inside every tent burned a glowering, white-grey stare. Every villager – whether they worked on repairing their damaged tents or sharpened their long, cruel-looking knives – warily stopped to watch the newfangled group as they passed. A few even reached for weapons, but upon seeing whose protection the outsiders were under thought better of their actions. Had they not been escorted, Poe was certain he and the others would all be dead by now.

Soon they came to the cave itself. The Rattataki turned to face them all before they went in.

"Stay close," she said, both as a warning and an order. She raised a long, ghost-white index finger to the ceiling and glanced upwards as she moved across the threshold. "Or you end up like them."

Poe's eyes followed where she had indicated, and he immediately wished they hadn't. Several more bodies hung with the one they'd seen before. He coughed as a bit of bile slid up his throat _._

"Caraya's soul," he murmured, jaw slack and eyes wide. "What did they do?"

"Trespassers," the Rattataki answered without turning around. "Part of a raiding party from another tribe." A slow, menacing smile crept across her face. Her eyes shone proudly as she looked up. "They tried to steal food and water, so those I could get to I reminded of their place." Her expression flattened. "Leave my sight and someone else _will_ remind you of yours."

"Yep," Kit sighed palely. "This is how we die."

Karé sharply elbowed him in the gut. " _Shh_."

"Stay close," the Rattataki went on, turning down a tunnel. "As long as you are under Yiema's wing, no harm will come to you."

Light trickled in from slits in the red-rock ceiling, illuminating the scars that twisted across the back of Yiema's neck and arms. Just by looking at her – by looking at any of the tribesmen – Poe could tell they'd all been in their fare share of fights. Part of him wondered how much they'd lost. Between the damage outside and the wounded they passed in the tunnel, he deduced it was quite a bit and recently.

They came to a fork, and Yiema suddenly stopped. Craning her neck, she shouted down the passage in her native tongue, its rough cacophony a ricocheting blaster bolt between the red rock walls. A smaller Rattataki woman came around the corner, nodding respectfully to Yiema before the two carried on a brief conversation. With a wary glare pinned at the foreigners, the smaller woman backed up and disappeared.

"He is here," Yiema said simply, turning on her heel and marching back down the shaft. "Come."

Jaren and Poe exchanged glances before starting after her. The rest of the team came right behind them. A few moments of near complete darkness led them to a curtain of beads and black leather strips that acted somewhat as a door. Yiema tucked a long-fingered hand behind the barricade and pulled it back slightly.

"None of us are slow to anger," she warned gravely. "Least of all the _laudan_. Mind your tongue, lest he rip it from your mouth."

She threw back the drape and stepped into the room, beckoning the outsiders forward. Steeling himself, Poe looked over his shoulder and reassuringly nodded at his companions before moving into the room himself. Instantly the hair on the back of his neck stood up. A massive, sitting silhouette hid in the shroud of the shadows. The pair of eyes that belonged to it glowered even more fiercely than Yiema's.

The _laudan_ spoke, his deep, raspy voice reverberating through the room like a low rumble of thunder. Yiema translated:

"Are you their leader?"

Poe nodded stalwartly. "One of them."

The _laudan_ nodded before speaking again.

"He has asked for your name," Yiema informed.

"Commander Poe Dameron."

The _laudan_ responded.

"And how many have you brought with you?" Yiema relayed.

Poe turned. "Jaren?"

"The ten at my back and the other forty waiting outside the cave," the Pathfinder responded, "plus another four-hundred and fifty still in orbit and Force knows how many more on the way. Mostly infantry, some medical." He nodded at Poe. "But we're never the ones turning the tide. That's all them."

Yiema translated, and the _laudan_ sat forward, another question forming on his lips.

"And just how many is… them?" Yiema asked on his behalf.

Poe looked over his shoulder at the rest of Rapier, a proud gleam in his eye. "Five, including me." He allowed himself a brief smile. "The five best the New Republic's got. We wouldn't be here if that weren't the case."

Yiema's eyes raked the group suspiciously, raising a hairless eyebrow at them. "Such an insignificant could not possibly turn a battle, Commander, much less win one."

"One of us can take out twenty times more men in one blow than a ground soldier," Poe replied, resolute. "Give it time, and you'll see why."

Yiema only laughed in response – a deep, sinister cackle that sent a chill down Poe's spine. Nevertheless, he calmly stood his ground as she turned to the _laudan_ and passed on what she had just heard. The _laudan_ scoffed angrily.

"We don't have _time_ , Commander," Yiema spat. "My people, my _husband_ —" she nodded towards the _laudan_ "—are _dying_. We wait any longer and we risk _extinction_." Her eyes narrowed to slits. "I do not expect that someone like _you_ could possibly understand that."

Poe's heart sank to his toes. Oh, how he did. Just as well as, if not better, than Yiema did. He thought of refuting – biting back about the brothers and sisters he'd lost to the First Order because of bided time – but he thought better of it. A deep frown wrought into his face, he nodded and relented, trying to rid the situation of the tension that had begun to strangle it. Better to get on with the negotiation before—

"He does, actually," Kit said meekly.

Poe's eyes squeezed shut. _Damn it, Five._

Though tremulous, Kit took a small step forward, his soft brown eyes meeting Yiema's sharp grey ones. Her severe expression gentled slightly as she watched him.

"We all do," Kit continued, becoming braver. "Think about why we're here, uh… ma'am… in the first place. We've got the same problem as you. We've had somebody coming into our territory, just like you. Wiping out our friends, our family, like your enemies do to you. All we want – all we've come to ask for and, I thought, had already gotten, or else the Senate wouldn't have sent us out here in the first place – is help protecting what's behind us. And, in return, we'd help you protect what's behind you. Promise."

With a softer tone, Yiema relayed what Kit had said to her to the _laudan_. The Rattataki tribe leader stood, heavily gripping the pillar of rock beside him as he limped forward. It was then Kit noticed the gaping gash on the _laudan_ 's thigh. The flimsy, soaked-through bandage they had wrapped on it had slipped out of place and the wound had begun to bleed, but the _laudan_ still moved forward. It wasn't until the Rattataki neared his wife and came into the sunlight that Kit realized how young they both were.

And, despite their best efforts to hide it, how terrified they looked.

"We _will_ help you," Kit went on, determined. "But we can't do that unless you guys decide to trust us."

Yiema translated, and the _laudan_ stiffened. He spoke again, and though his tone was more agreeable, he was no less tense than he had been before. Yiema – who he was now leaning on for support – turned back to the young lieutenant.

"Then he says you must be able to prove yourselves worthy."

Poe's brow furrowed. "My superiors told me we already had," he said. "You agreed to this conversation, didn't you?"

"Conversation and alliance are not one in the same. They gave us a reason to hear you out, not a reason to trust you. That is something you must garner yourselves."

"How?"

"You say you have brought the best your people have to offer," Yiema replied. "Yet Xoreg and I feel any of _our_ best could rip yours apart. Your strongest warrior will duel our strongest warrior in a fight to first blood. If you are somehow victorious, then we have an accord."

Poe nodded. "And if we lose?"

Yiema smiled darkly. "Trust me, small one. You do _not_ want to lose."


	22. Underdogs

_Chapter 22: Underdogs_

Though she didn't like to admit it, just being in a room with Krell had always made Mila tense. The major – who was handing out training assignments from Sundar – slowly worked her way down the line, conversing with each of the officers as she went. One by one they disappeared, and Krell watched them go proudly. She even smiled – a rare sight, and a strange one. Mila allowed herself a small glimmer of hope.

But the second Krell stepped in front of her – looked down her sharp nose contemptuously at her – that hope instantly died.

Though Krell was an even match in height and build for the rest of the officers, she towered over Mila. Steeling herself, Mila raised her chin to meet her condescending gaze.

"Major," she greeted simply.

Krell sighed. "Lieutenant Criss," she clipped, her nose wrinkling as if the name tasted bad on her tongue. "Officer detail. Ten recruits. Their information has been sent to you datapad. Report to Bay 7 immediately."

Mila nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

She turned to leave, the only sound to be heard the tapping of her boots on the hard, frozen floor. Krell's eyes never left her, but the string of insults that usually accompanied that sharp gaze didn't come. Slowly, Mila started to smile.

 _Maybe today really will be different_ , she thought. _Maybe—_

"These are the best Sundar has, Criss. Giving them to _you_ of all people is an insult not only to them, but to the entire battalion."

Mila gritted her teeth, frowning. This – since the day she'd met Krell – had been their routine. Mila had never figured out why.

"They should really go to someone more competent – and believe me, I've informed them of that – but unfortunately Sundar can't recognize _uselessness_ when he sees it. After you lost those men on Dantooine, I thought he'd open his eyes, but – unfortunately – nobody's perfect."

Anger spurred in Mila's chest. Suddenly she was sitting on the floor of that Mon Calamari med cruiser with a wounded Kit in her arms, her heart falling to her toes when she was informed that they'd just lost the other med cruiser… and that some of her own troops had been on it. Their deaths weren't due to her own ineptitude; she didn't blame herself for them because of that. The First Order had taken them from her.

She desperately wanted to wheel around and set the record straight, but Krell would never believe her. Nor did she want to give her the satisfaction.

So she did exactly what she knew the major _didn't_ want:

She kept walking.

Krell, insistent on having the last word, shouted after her:

"He's made a mistake in you—"

The doors whooshed shut behind her, cutting off Krell's most treasured – and most stinging – insult. One that Mila knew by heart:

_He's made a mistake in you, Criss! One day, you'll both see that!_

Mila's face hardened into a deep frown. She didn't believe those words… did she?

She looked up. There was no time to mull over that question. Her recruits had beaten her there.

Squaring her shoulders and taking a deep breath, she briskly made her way across the large, high-ceilinged room and sharply called them to attention. Though all ten of them quickly snapped into formation, it didn't hide the fact that they all looked a bit confused. Disparaging, even. Steeling herself, she drew herself up to her full height – which was over a head shorter than nearly all of the men and women in front of her – and cleared her throat.

 _Here goes nothing_.

"Gentlemen," she projected authoritatively. "Ladies. I'm Lieutenant Mila Criss. I've been assigned to your unit. You are here because you want to fight with some of the very best the New Republic has to offer. I'm here to make sure you fit that bill."

"You?" someone scoffed.

Raising an eyebrow, Mila scanned the line for the speaker. He looked to be about two meters tall, with a square jaw and a broad, muscular build. As far as the unit's physical standards went, he was just about perfect.

A tiny part of Mila felt like an ant glaring up at him. Most of her could have cared less.

"There a problem, Sergeant?" she frowned flatly.

"No," was the grunted reply.

The scorn in his eye strongly suggested otherwise, though Mila chose to ignore it.

"Over the next several months," she continued, "all of you will be tested. Forget what you think your limits are. You'll be pushed far past the—"

"I was just wondering… how the hell did _you_ wind up here?"

Mila whipped around. "You won't speak until you're given permission to," she snapped.

"Nah…." The soldier shrugged. "Just… a girl like you doesn't look like she should be out here. I mean… any one of us could kick your whole ribcage in. I don't wanna hurt you, sweetheart. You've got too pretty a face."

Mila's eyes flashed. Spinning on her heel, she slowly paced towards the jeering soldier, angry weight in every step she took.

She knew where the situation was most likely headed. More often than she liked to admit, they often took that turn, and she always hated it when it did.

"Uh-oh," somebody else chuckled. "You made her mad."

Stopping in front of the soldier, Mila craned her neck to look up at him.

"I'm not kidding," the soldier said, a mocking smile stretching across his face. "You try to fight any of us and you _will_ get hurt. Who the hell was dumb enough to throw you out here in the first place?"

"Your kriffing commanding officer," Mila retorted flatly. "That's who. Anyway, where was I—"

The soldier's voice lowered. "C'mon, sweetheart," he purred. "You think you can come up in here and boss me around? I could snap you like a toothpick, but I'm a _nice_ guy, so I won't."

"Fine," Mila bit back, putting her hands on her hips and glaring up at him. "Then _come take me down_ , soldier."

The soldier looked taken aback. "What?"

Mila grinned spitefully, shrugging. "Should be easy, shouldn't it? If you think I shouldn't be out here, then you _damn well_ better be able to prove it."

The soldier took a step forward. "Shame," he said, growing bolder. His voice dropped to a suggestive murmur. "When I imagined your back hitting the ground, baby, a fight's not exactly what I had in mind."

Mila's fist wiped the sleazy smirk right off his face.

She rammed her knee into his crotch, angrily frowning as he doubled over. Her elbow hammered between his shoulder blades. Smacking the floor face-first, he scrambled to his feet and tried to grab her—

—only to be slammed to the ground over her shoulder.

And one sharp kick to the ribs later, he laid in a panting, moaning heap at Mila's feet.

Most of the men were gaping. The women grinned.

Mila stood over his back, wrenching his arm behind him almost to the point of dislocation. He grimaced.

"What do you think now, buddy?" she growled. "Still think I can't?"

Weakly, he shook his head.

She put more pressure on his arm, wincing as she heard the bone pop. "You gonna listen to me now, Sergeant?"

"Yeah…."

" _Excuse_ me?"

"Yes…."

Mila bent over right next to his ear. "Yes _what?"_

"Y-Yes, ma'am," the soldier whimpered.

" _I can't hear you, Sergeant!"_

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Get up, soldier!" a voice furiously barked behind them.

Sundar was not very prone to angry outbursts, but when they came, they were legendary.

"Don't even think about helping him, Mila," he ordered, coming up alongside the lieutenant and putting a hand on her shoulder.

Slowly, the grimacing soldier dragged himself to his feet.

The scowl on Sundar's face could have scared a wampa back into its cave. "Get back in line and stand at attention," he commanded, his voice dangerously low.

The soldier complied.

"Lieutenant," Sundar started, the usual calmness back in his voice. "A word?"

He nodded towards the wall and walked over, his hands clasped behind his back. Wordlessly, Mila followed.

"I caught the last bit of that," he said solemnly, facing her. "Are you okay?"

Mila smiled, refreshed by his concern. "With respect, I'm not the one you should be asking that, sir," she replied.

Sundar chuckled briefly. He put a hand on her shoulder, his face darkening with fatherly worry. "Lieutenant, if you need me to stay and watch them, it's no troub—"

"It's nothing I haven't handled before, Colonel," Mila reassured with a grin. "I'm fine. I promise. I just…." She sighed. " _Really_ wish I didn't have to do that."

"You shouldn't have to," Sundar agreed. "But you did exactly what you were supposed to, Lieutenant. Don't ever tolerate anything like that."

Mila nodded. "I never do. But, if I could ask a favor, sir… put a triage droid on standby here. Just in case. I can't be a _complete_ savage."

Sundar laughed. "Will do." He clapped her on the shoulder. "Go finish the job, Lieutenant."

Mila nodded. "Absolutely, sir."

Squaring her shoulders, the lieutenant headed back to her recruits. The soldier from earlier – now sporting the starts of a black eye – watched her warily.

"Now," she said. "Where were we?"

* * *

Cutting back through the long labyrinth of hallways the second time was far more sickening than the first. It was eerily quiet. The tribesmen that lined the passages had disappeared, leaving Poe to wonder where they had gone. He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, and he walked around anticipating a knife to sink between his shoulders at any second.

Though he fought not to show it for the sake of those around him, he completely terrified. Not for his life or for the success of the mission, but for the life of the men and women next to him.

Or, more accurately, the man in front of him.

Whatever had possessed Jaren to volunteer was beyond him, but Poe admired the courage it had taken to do so. Flanked by two towering Rattataki guards, the Pathfinder silently followed Yiema and led the group back to the main corridor. His hands clenched and unclenched behind him as he walked; deep, steadying breaths punctuated his every second or third stride.

He looked over his shoulder at Poe, who gave him a reassuring nod. Jaren's face hardened determinedly as he continued forward. Kit shook his head as he watched him.

"He might actually be crazy," he thought aloud, his voice tight with worry.

They rounded a corner, and another cave opening gaped in front of them, pouring sharp white sunlight into the shadows. Everyone squinted. Distant drumbeats suddenly shook the ground beneath them. Kit tensed.

"Take a deep breath, Five," Poe bolstered. "She said first blood, not to the death. It could be much, much worse."

"He loses," Muran grumbled, nodding towards Jaren. "We die. Boom. It's worse."

"Happy thoughts, Muran. Happy thoughts."

Muran frowned. "Fine. Dying at least gets us out of the heat—"

" _Definitely_ not what I meant!"

They passed through the threshold, walking out into the open air. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, Poe found himself standing at the far side of a massive coliseum – a gladiator pit – hewn into the red rock around him, staring up at levels upon levels of seating crammed with Rattataki tribesmen that rose above him with wide eyes. Yiema stood in the middle, acknowledging her people with a chilling smile. The sound of the war drums and the screaming crowd was deafening.

That explained the empty hallways, Poe thought. The entire tribe – which had to have been almost five thousand strong – had come to watch the fight.

Craning his neck, Poe glanced around for Jaren. The Pathfinder stood with his hands on his hips, taking in the scene with the same surprise and fear that Poe had. Without a second thought, the commander made his way over to him, the rest of his squad following.

"You sure you're ready for this?" Poe asked.

"Yeah," Jaren replied, the high pitch in his tone strongly indicating otherwise. "I'm pretty big; I've fought pretty big. I think I got a chance."

Yiema stepped aside, and the crowd suddenly roared as another, much taller Rattataki took her place. In the face, he strongly resembled her, but his features were harder. Fiercer. Thick, broad muscle rippled across his shoulders and back, which were crisscrossed with old and new battle scars. His light grey eyes glowering, he drew a long, curved scimitar from its sheath and flipped it around his hand, plunging the knife into the ground and bellowed a long, throaty battle cry that alone could have sent an entire army packing.

All of Jaren's bravado – which normally was not easily lost – instantly fled.

"On second thought," he said numbly, eyes wide and jaw slack. "Call med, and if I lose, run like hell."

Karé and Kit both nodded, dazed. "Uh huh," they squeaked in unison.

"My brother," Yiema called to the frazzled soldiers. "Tazeo. He comes in the _laudan_ 's stead. He has never once lost a fight. He does not plan on starting today."

Tazeo drew himself up to his full height – well over two meters – and smirked at them wickedly.

"Listen, Commander," Jaren began, "if this goes badly—"

"Don't," Poe cut him off, putting a stalwart hand on his shoulder. "You're gonna be fine, pal."

"But… if it happens…" Jaren continued, his voice barely audible. He sighed. "Take care of her, Poe. For me. Please."

Poe smiled and nodded. "Absolutely." He clapped Jaren's shoulder. "Go."

Jaren blew out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, lifted his head, and took a step towards the middle of the arena. Someone roughly grabbed his arm and stopped him before he could get any further.

Though he looked as perpetually aggravated as ever, Muran's eyes were wide. Jaren stiffened.

"You lose," the Rapier said pointedly, his gruff voice stiff with fear. "We _die_. Don't. Blow it."

Jaren gave him a look and walked on.

"No pressure!" Kit called after him.

In spite of himself, Jaren smirked. The kid had every inch of the wit Rapier had described, and even though it now spawned out of fear, he still found it temporarily easing the tightness in his muscles.

The closer he got to Tazeo, the faster Jaren's heart pounded. Sweat beaded on his forehead – and not because of the suffocating Rattataki heat. His hands balled into nervous fists, the colonel stopped about a pace and a half away from his opponent, looking up at the towering mass of muscle like he were staring at the top of a large, unapproachable building. Tazeo's breath – heavy and throaty like the pants of an angry reek – labored in anticipation, almost as if the Rattataki gladiator already smelled blood. Jaren winced.

If that fist hit his head, it… wouldn't feel good. If he were awake to feel it at all.

Yiema moved between them, holding her arm out to restrain the two combatants. Tazeo grunted, staring his quarry down with a glare that could have burned a hole through a blast door. Steeling himself, Jaren quietly returned his gaze as he drew his tactical knife. His weight shifted to the balls of his feet.

Maybe he didn't look like much to the Rattataki, but he was a Pathfinder, and a damn good one. A soldier – a high-ranking officer – in the one of the most elite ground units the New Republic military had.

And he sure as hell was going to fight like it.

Yiema stepped back and nodded. Tazeo charged.

Suddenly finding himself on the defensive, the Pathfinder dove out of the way, stooping to avoid getting hit by the flurry of rapid fire blows aimed at his head. Tazeo laughed imposingly, interpreting Jaren's instant fallback for cowardice.

He may not have had size on his side, but Jaren certainly had speed. If he could somehow outrun Tazeo, tire him out and them land one good hit—

 _That's it_.

Without a second thought, Jaren shuffled backwards through the sand as fast as his feet would let him. Tazeo followed, swinging again and again, nearly clobbering him in the jaw several times, but the Pathfinder – to Tazeo's growing frustration – narrowly dodged every last blow.

Finally Tazeo landed a kick to Jaren's abdomen, sending him to the ground. Jaren swore he heard something – felt something – snap. Doubling over, he rolled out of the way, holding his hand to his side. Blood stuck to the back of his throat, but he swallowed it.

As long as it didn't come out of his mouth, he still had a chance.

The New Republic still had a chance.

He scrambled to his feet. Tazeo barreled towards him again, going for a hit to his chest, but Jaren managed to block it. Every bone in his arm nearly buckled under the impact. He rammed his knee into Tazeo's gut, and though the Rattataki stumbled, he quickly regained his footing. Snarling, he lunged at the dazed Pathfinder and knocked him to the ground.

Before Jaren could even think about getting up, Tazeo was on top of him, pinning him down. Squirming and kicking, Jaren fought to free himself, but it wasn't enough. Tazeo's fist – a hammer that could have flattened durasteel – slammed into the ground so close to Jaren's ear he felt the wind from the blow itch in his buzzed brown hair. It came again, and again, each time missing him by millimeters.

Eventually the Rattataki gave up on that plan. He tightened his grip on the struggling Pathfinder and reached for his scimitar. Jaren's eyes bugged.

A lot of him began to wonder if Yiema had lied.

Tazeo slowly raised his arm for the kill, sneering. _Gloating_ , Jaren suddenly realized. Which left him a split second – a small, yet wide-open window – in which to act.

Jaren took his chance.

With all the strength he could muster, the Pathfinder rammed his forehead into Tazeo's nose, crying out as the impact rattled his insides. Tazeo's arms buckled.

Jaren shoved him to the side, scuttling backwards like a frightened crab. His head throbbing, he fought to sit up, but the pain that coursed through his entire body only allowed him to raise his head.

Tazeo's hunched back faced him, and he breathed heavily. Any second Jaren expected him to wheel around and tear him limb from limb.

But he didn't.

He only wiped at his nose, eyeing the stream of sticky, deep blue liquid that now streamed down his arm with surprise. He looked at his sister.

" _Blothan!_ " he suddenly cried.

Jaren's sweating brow furrowed. _What?_

As soon as Tazeo turned around, Jaren understood. The Rattataki's entire face was covered in his own, thick blue blood.

The Pathfinder lay back, smiling and laughing in relief.

He'd done it.

Yiema stepped towards the middle of the ring, flanking her brother and raising a fist into the air. The crowd – which beforehand was in hysterics – instantly silenced.

She drew her own scimitar, closed her hand around the blade, and yanked it back out again, unfazed by the blood that now poured through her fingers and down the length of her arm as she turned to address the outsiders:

"For a thousand generations," she started, weighting every word as she made her way towards Poe and the others, "our people have upheld the sacred tradition of _Blothan_ _Wersoo_ , which in your tongue means 'Blood War.' Our ancestors have charged us with the duty of righting the wrongs of those who _dare_ betray our trust—" she raised her bleeding fist in front of their faces as she spoke for emphasis, squeezing her fingers together "—by spilling their blood."

Poe's heart thumped hard in his chest. Karé's stomach churned. Kit paled.

"So," Yiema went on, stalking across the sand towards the unnerved Rapiers. "If you are thinking of betraying us, small ones, I will _not_ hesitate to tear you limb from limb." Her voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure."

Poe raised his head to look at her. "Trust me," he replied, his voice as even and as steady as ever. "We're not planning on it."

"Plans change, Commander," Yiema growled, stooping over Poe like a nexu over its prey. Her piercing eyes narrowed to slits. "Pray that yours _don't_."

She wheeled on her heel and shouted to Tazeo, who half-stumbled through the sand towards Jaren. Locking eyes with the Rattataki, the exhausted Pathfinder slowly hauled himself to his feet, still not all together convinced that Tazeo wouldn't rip him apart. Soon he peered up at his opponent again, but the hostility from before was no longer there.

Silently, Tazeo stretched out his hand. Jaren eyed it suspiciously, the bruises forming on his arm and torso refusing to let him trust it completely. Hesitantly he reached for it, wincing slightly as Tazeo's strong hand firmly gripped his forearm. Once Jaren returned the gesture – the fierce respect burning in Tazeo's eyes had taken him aback and kept him from doing so immediately – the crowd roared.

An exhausted, grateful smile stretched across Jaren's face. Fatigue ravaged his body. Every breath burned. His knees threated to buckle from underneath him. Black danced in and out of his vision. Vertigo shook him. He visibly swayed on his feet, fighting to stay upright.

But in this moment, none of that mattered. He had completed his mission.

When Tazeo stepped back, the wearied Pathfinder collapsed into the sand.


	23. Echo Squadron

_Chapter 23: Echo Squadron_

He was convinced he was dying. Chances were slim that he actually was, but it sure as hell felt like it. Between the splitting headache and the persistent throbbing that heated and stabbed at every muscle in his body, all Jaren felt he could do was squint out the fading Rattataki sunlight and moan.

"Owwwwwww."

The young Twi'lek medic at his left jerked her hand off of his shoulder, almost as if it had burned her. "Sorry, Colonel—"

"No, no, no," Jaren dismissed good-naturedly. "Not you, Lieutenant. Just… in general." He let out a long, heavy sigh and reclined back onto the rock he was sitting on. " _Owwwwww._ "

"Caraya's soul, Colonel," the young lieutenant giggled. "You'd think you got hit by a skytrain."

"Might as well have been," Jaren chuckled wryly. "You see any of that? He was huge."

The girl shook her head, a shy smile playing at the corners of her lips. She turned and said something to the other four brand-new med lieutenants she was working with, but Jaren was too exhausted to catch what it was. He closed his eyes. One of his ears still rang. Vaguely he picked out flight boots crunching towards him through the mix of rock and sand that acted as the ground. A second later someone sat down next to him, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder after turning to face him. Jaren cracked an eye open and smiled.

"Hey, kid," he greeted weakly.

"Got a fan club already?" Kit grinned.

Jaren smirked, scoffing lightly.

"Really," Poe joked from somewhere behind him. "You got a whole entourage, Colonel. Save some for the rest of us."

Jaren managed a smile through the grimacing. "Once you get the choobies to let Tazeo throw you around like a sack of pom flour, then I'll lend you a few, okay flyboy?"

Poe grinned, laughing nervously as he eyed the wall of Rattataki muscle that leaned against a pillar of nearby rock. Though Tazeo now posed no threat to them, it didn't make the scars on his face or the weapons sheathed at his side any less imposing.

"I think I'll pass," he decided.

Jaren smirked. "Uh-huh. That's what I thought."

The three heard footsteps. Kit turned. Though it was strange to see Yiema without a glare in her eyes when she rounded the corner, it wasn't unwelcome. For the first time, the Rapiers saw her genuinely smile.

"There's our champion," she said, softly coming across the roofless room to greet him. She grasped his forearm. "You fought well, little brother."

Jaren smiled gratefully. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Now," she went on, taking a seat by Jaren's side. "Your friends have informed me that you have more warriors coming. Until you can finish constructing your own fortress, you are more than welcome to stay with us. We have the room."

"You sure it won't draw too much unwanted attention?"

Yiema sighed. "I hope not."

The Twi'lek medic grinned confidently. "Between Colonel Criss and those guns in the sky, we've got you covered, I promise you."

She grinned at Poe. The commander winked at her.

Yiema stiffened a little, eyeing the pilot with decidedly less fondness she elected to give to his Pathfinder counterpart. "We shall see," she said coldly. She turned back to Jaren. "Colonel, once we have—"

She was cut off by a long, loud bellowing. Jaren and Kit both jumped. Yiema sighed dejectedly. "Xoreg," she whispered, shaking her head.

"What about him?" Kit asked, concerned.

Yiema's face fell further. "That wound on his leg. He got it three weeks ago while fending off the last raid. He has refused to rest, so it has only worsened."

Another scream ricocheted through the canyon. Tazeo bolted in its direction. After several long, tensely quiet minutes, the Rattataki reappeared under the arch.

Poe nodded towards the _laudan_ 's wound. "You know we've got people who can fix that," he suggested. "And they're _very_ skilled—"

"So were ours," Yiema griped curtly. " _Wikkjaz_ , sorceresses, we called them. Imbued with power from Rattatak to heal, to fight. To protect the clan." Her face warmed with a brief memory. "We thought them invincible. Infallible. They closed every wound, cured every sickness, won every battle they were called into. Some could even see things before they happened."

Jaren's brow wrinkled perplexedly. Kit and the medic exchanged glances. Poe's jaw dropped a little.

Though no one ventured to say the word _Force_ , everyone was thinking it. That made the Rattataki's losses all the more grave.

"They were able to warn us before the last attack," Yiema went on, looking out at the horizon despairingly, "and it did buy us some time… but it was too little too late. We were overwhelmed. _They_ were overwhelmed. Our enemy came _hunting_ for them. There were too many. The _wikkjaz_ were wiped out before we could reach them."

Her voice trailed off. A long, uncomfortable silence rolled past before she found the words to continue with:

"It was only them Xoreg trusts to come near any of his injuries." She sighed, squeezing her piercing eyes shut and wrapping her fingers around the rock next to her, almost as if she were asking it to hold her up. "Any of your healers attempt to remedy them, and he may kill them. Though his mistrust makes him a dead man walking. If we lose our leader, and then the raiding parties return—"

She bit back the rest of her thought, almost as if speaking it would bring it to fruition. Slowly Poe nodded.

"They were the backbone of our clan. Their loss has made us vulnerable. Our enemy knows this—"

"Then as long as we're here," Poe reassured, "we'll be on the lookout. Let the Pathfinders post a guard here. We can fly patrols. We put eyes everywhere. We make it next to impossible for them to sneak up on you again. And if they try…"

"Let's just say it won't end well for them," Karé put in, tucking her helmet a little closer under one arm. She glanced at Iolo, who stood next to her. "At all. We'll make sure of it."

"You overestimate yourselves, Lieutenant," Yiema insisted, her back turned to them. She looked out at the red horizon. Anger and fear tainted her voice. "When next they come, they will come to finish their work. They will come to _exterminate_ us."

Jaren's face hardened. "Not if we're ready for them." He fumbled for his comlink, tapping his fingers against his leg impatiently when his signal wasn't automatically received.

"Colonel?" a young voice cracked through the other side.

"Tell everybody to come down now," Jaren ordered. "Double-time. We've made contact and they need help. Send all squad leaders to me once you make planetfall. I've got a special assignment for them."

"Yes, sir. Shall I send for Echo Squadron as well?"

Jaren looked across the room. "Poe?"

The commander nodded. "They'll be wanting to stretch their legs."

"All units confirmed," Jaren replied through the comlink. "Send them down."

* * *

Echo Six had decided to take a break from his work and sit in the cruiser's hangar as it descended through the arid Rattataki atmosphere. Not for lack of wanting to see where he was going to spend the next three years of his life, but for the need of some peace. Leaning up against the ladder of his brand new A-wing fighter – the cool of the metal against his back and the smell of fuel and engine grease calming his racing mind – the newly graduated lieutenant stared wistfully at the ghostly image glowing on the top of his hand-held holo projector.

Though the promise of adventure excited him, Calo Criss definitely missed his family. He smiled faintly as he studied their faces. This was his first time away from home. As far away as they had sometimes felt when he was still at the Academy, it was nothing compared to how it felt now. They had no idea where he was – or just how close he was to the Unknown Regions. And if they knew—

" _There_ you are, Six."

Snapped out of his fog, Calo suddenly looked up. A set of bright blue eyes peered down on him behind long, blonde side bangs that had fallen out of their clips. Though she had the height, self-carriage, and the resting angry face that intimidated almost everyone she came across on first meeting, Lieutenant Varsha Drant was a welcome sight. She smiled at him a little.

"Tover's rounding up the troops," she said, her arms folded across her chest in her typical posture. "We're getting ready to make planetfall. He wants us all in one spot when the COs show up."

"Right," Calo replied, grunting as he unfolded his gangly legs and stood up. "Where're we meeting?"

Varsha shrugged, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. "You know Tover. We'll find out." She noted the holo projector that still glowed in his hand. "Those your folks?"

"Uh…" Calo stammered shyly, clicking the projector off and stowing it away in one of his pockets. A little embarrassment warmed his cheeks. "Yeah. I was, uh—"

" _Calo_ ," Varsha chuckled, putting a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Half of us were doing the same thing on the way down. Even Tover. Don't sweat it." She hung her head a little. "I miss mine, too."

Calo nodded, unable to look her in the eye.

"First mission jitters," she went on. "That's all this is."

They both heard the cruiser's landing gear whine open and grind into the ground. Hydraulics hissed from outside as the ship settled in and the gangplank dropped, a warm draft soaking the room as fresh air rushed inside. Curious, the two young pilots craned their necks over the top of the Calo's A-wing towards the large, now open hangar doors.

"Whoa," Calo gaped, awestruck. "There it is."

Rattatak – which Calo and Varsha had, until now, only heard of in stories and seen in holo documentaries – now sprawled out in front of them, the fading day's light turning the sky purple and blurring the mountains on the horizon to jagged, inky shadows. Stars coated the sky so thickly that nearly the entire thing glowed. Firelight danced in the distance, and every one in a while Calo and Varsha made out the towering silhouette of one of the natives stalking past them. Mesmerized and terrified, the two pilots exchanged glances.

They wondered what they were like.

"Echo Six! Echo Four!"

Tover Solusar, Echo Leader, jogged up beside them, his tousled black hair blowing back behind him in the draft. The rest of Echo Squadron wasn't far behind him. While Varsha casually settled down on a crate behind her and picked the cluster of wiring she'd been trying to untangle back up, Calo nervously snapped to attention.

"At ease," Tover chuckled, a strong Festian accent lacing his voice. "You know you don't have to do that every time I call you, right Criss?"

Calo nodded silently. Tover put a hand on his shoulder. "You can go back to work, Six," he said, clapping him on the back.

Shakily Calo threw himself back under his A-wing – back to where he had been before he pulled out the holo projector – and slid up underneath an open panel. He blew out a long breath.

"Relax," Tover reassured, his dark eyes kind as he flopped down next to Varsha. "I'm sure they don't bite."

Calo's brow furrowed. "Huh? Who?"

"The—" Tover started, his eyes widening in realization as the unmistakable shriek of X-wing engines filled the hangar. " _Them_."

Calo craned his neck backwards, and his jaw dropped. The squadron filed up the gangplank and glided past him, the sleek blue stripes over their cool metal sides gleaming under the hangar lights.

He counted them as they came past. One. Two. Three. Four. As he squinted into the last cockpit, Calo just barely made out the silhouette of the pilot, her bright smile flashing through the tinted transparisteel as she adjusted a few controls over her head. His brow furrowed.

She seemed familiar. They all did.

"Who are these people?" Calo asked, his heart beginning to thump hard in his chest.

Tover only grinned in response. "You'll see," he replied, running up along his own X-wing and swinging onto the mechanic's creeper underneath it. "Now, where was that—"

"Give me a hint, Echo One?" Calo asked, growing a little braver as opened a hatch and waded elbow-deep into his A-wing's insides. "Doesn't have to be a good one…."

His voice trailed off, his dark eyes once again fixed on the gangplank as a fifth X-wing – a famously black one – hovered across the durasteel, commanding the attention of everyone it passed. In between the orange stripes jutting down the side and the hyperactive BB unit that wiggled in the astromech socket, there was no mistaking who was in that cockpit… and who the other four pilots were.

Rapier Squadron. _The_ Rapier Squadron.

It was all Calo could do to keep from passing out.

The last set of landing gear – _Dameron's_ landing gear, he thought with a squeak – clicked against the durasteel floor, hydraulics hissing as the repulsors shut off and the engines cooled down. The BB unit clanked to the ground and zipped underneath the X-wing's belly, warbling as he wove between techs to get a look at any possible damage with his own photoreceptors. Soon his master joined him.

"Is this really happening?" Calo whispered to himself, stunned as he tried to focus back in on what he had been doing. Wires hung down out of the fighter's hull, tangling around each other in a jumbled mess. Sticking his tongue out slightly as he concentrated, Calo tried to separate them, only to worsen the knots. Groaning in frustration, the young pilot strained to reach the wiring's base so he could pull it out, but no matter how hard he yanked, the stubborn piece wouldn't move.

"Blast it," he grunted, weaving his fingers between the cords to get a better grip. Thick black oil slithered down his arm. With his other he felt around for the Harris wrench he'd brought down with him, gritting his teeth as he started to lose his grip on the wiring.

Grey flight boots stopped right at his head. "You need a hand, Lieutenant?"

Calo managed a nod. The pilot squatted down next to him, handing him the Harris wrench with a grin. Calo's eyes widened.

"Lieutenant Anderon?"

The young Rapier smiled. "Yep," he said. "You're… Calo, right?"

 _He knows my name!_ _How does he—did he just—?_

"Yeah," Calo replied, trying with everything in him to keep his voice from squeaking as Kit shook his hand. "I…. it's an honor, Lieutenant—"

"Call me Kit," he said, still smiling as he swung himself underneath the A-wing's hull and laid down next to Calo. "We're on the same level, anyways. Only thing between you and me is time, pal. The others will say the same thing. You _might_ have to use a rank on Poe, but even then, with your connections I doubt he'll make you."

Calo's jaw dropped. _Somebody pinch me._

"So what's going on here?" Kit went on, lifting his head off the durasteel so he could get a better look at the tangled mess of grease and wiring above him. He nodded sharply. "Right. I don't have a clue how this goes together." He sat up and shouted back towards the rest of his squad, who had mingled in with the rest of Echo. "Any of you guys speak A-wing?"

Metal clanked above them as Calo tinkered, blotting out whatever response Kit had gotten from Calo's ears. Someone nonchalantly flopped on the ground next to him, his brow furrowing as he reached up into the A-wing's belly. Interstellar orange danced in Calo's peripheral instead of his squadron's deep green.

"Man," the pilot grunted, his calloused hand giving the wiring a good pull. "It really _is_ stuck, isn't it?"

When Calo turned to see who had spoken, and his heart jumped into his mouth. The flabbergasted grin on his face widened as he came face to face with one of his heroes.

"Commander—"

The Rapier instantly smiled and extended his hand. "Call me Poe," he said, the bright grin on his face widening as a stunned Calo shook his hand. "Calo, right?"

"Uh… I uh…" His eyes nervously darted around as if they were looking for the words that just flew out of his head. "This A-wing's mine," he hurriedly stumbled. "And I'm Calo. Calo Criss. But you already knew that. Damn it. Uh—"

Poe laughed good-naturedly. "No worries." He squinted back up into the mess of wires above him. He turned to his droid, who had been sitting next to him. "Little light would go a long way, buddy."

BB-8 beeped and complied. Now that he could see what he was doing, the commander sat up just enough to get a good, solid grip on the wiring's base and used his body weight to yank it out of place. He handed his prize to Calo, a triumphant quirk in his eyebrow.

"You…" Calo started trepidly, studying the tangled mess in his hand because he wasn't quite brave enough to make eye contact. "I think you know my sister."

"I do," Poe replied, a smile encompassing his face as he hauled himself to his feet. "She's told me a lot about you, buddy. It's good to finally meet you."

Brown eyes round, Calo completely froze, fumbling for words as Poe helped him up. "You too, Commander."

 _He knew about me? He knew about me! That's two! Holy kriff!_ His heart skipped a beat. _I wonder if Lieutenant Kun—nah, no way. Is she even here? Maybe—_

As soon as he glanced over his shoulder, he got his answer. Lieutenant Karé Kun had folded her long legs on the crate she sat on, reclining back on one elbow as she casually chatted with Varsha. The way the light danced in her big brown eyes and glowed against her olive skin, the way her long hair – which she was working on freeing from its braids – tumbled over her shoulders….

His face turned eight thousand different shades of red before he could stop it—and that was _before_ she looked at him.

_Don't. Do. Anything. Stupid._

"…but you're not the only one, are you?" Varsha went on, leaning forward on her elbows and looking back at the Rapier. "I mean… I didn't think you were."

"Not 'til recently, no," Karé replied. "I had Kat Palvo and Havla Tendora before Daxam Four and Dantooine—yeah. They helped me keep tabs on the boys—" she lowered her voice sarcastically "—and that's a _task_."

"Heard that!" Iolo piped up from underneath Tover's X-wing.

Karé smirked. "You were _supposed_ to, nerfherder."

She shot Calo and Poe that famous million-dollar, what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it grin – one that made Calo's already red face go nearly purple – and turned back to an amused Varsha.

Calo winced. _Maybe she'll think its sunburn._

"What were they like?" Varsha asked. "Lieutenant Palvo and Lieutenant Tendora."

Karé smiled wistfully. "A lot like you and me, kiddo. Palvo was from Coruscant; Tendora was from Ryloth. Ambitious, funny as hell,cold as ice behind the stick. I wish you could have met them. Both of them. They were something else."

Varsha smiled. "What got them out here?"

"Havla always said Hera made her do it," Karé chuckled. "Palvo blamed Lieutenant Bey, like I do." She laughed. "Truth is, we were all just restless. Ready to move and not stop until we got where we wanted to be. And that's exactly what happened." She sporadically drummed the top of her helmet, a little smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "What about you, kiddo? What got you out here?"

Varsha smiled. "Same as you, I guess. It seemed like one big adventure, and I couldn't pass it up."

"What do you fly?"

"A-wing."

Karé nodded. "What made you decide on one?"

Varsha's face lit up a little. "I'm from Naboo. My parents were in Theed when Operation Cinder happened. Lieutenant Bey saved their lives that day – saved our entire world from the Empire's vengeance… and that's what she flew. So I wanted to, too. I can't really explain it."

"No kidding," Karé grinned, suddenly sitting up. "Poe!" she called, waving her old friend over. She turned back to Varsha. "Say that again."

Albeit a bit bashfully, Varsha repeated herself, not a little bit blown away to be speaking to someone who had been so close to the person that, for her, had started it all. "I don't know," she stammered, finally working up the courage to look Poe in the eye. "She's one of my heroes, Commander. She's why I'm here."

Poe put a hand on her shoulder, smiling warmly. "Me too, Lieutenant," he said softly. "And she'd be proud to see you flying, believe me. All of you."

Varsha blushed a little. Karé grinned. Calo's jaw went slack. _High praise_.

"Do you all know why you're here?"

Varsha and Calo exchanged glances. Tover – who had a massive oil stain streaming across the bridge of his nose – slowly shrugged. Poe faintly grinned.

"Major Deso told me you all graduated at the top of your class," the commander went on. "That you're the best of the best. Because of that, he wanted you to train with the best. He sees you all going places – and so do I, after looking at your records. All Deso feels Echo needs to achieve an elite status is a little experience." He looked over his shoulder, glancing at every one of his new protégés. "That's why Rapier's here. To see if you're cut out for the job and, on the off chance you're not, give you the tools to make sure that you are."

Though they all tried to contain it for the sake of their pride, all of Echo Squadron suddenly buzzed with excitement. Rapier's lieutenants exchanged amused grins. Poe tried to return them, but the sincerity faded from it as Deso's final order from the briefing rolled back through his mind.

Seven of these pilots would replace the fallen Rapiers. Replace his brothers. His sisters. Though he'd not known them long, he saw fragments of them in the lieutenants that stood around him. Varsha had Palvo's spunk and blunt wit; Calo, Cage's quietness and… unremarkable way with words. As he got to know them better, he knew he would warm up to the idea of other voices answering for Rapier Six and Rapier Eleven – for the others call signs that they had lost – but now, those losses were still too fresh in his mind. The wound still ran too deep… and though the pain would someday be numb, it would never truly heal.

But now was not the time to dwell on such things. He had a job to do. And, though it did sting a little, new friends to make.

Besides, the last thing any of his late comrades would want him to do was wait. He smiled—genuinely smiled.

"So, Echo Squadron," he said, waving a hand in front of him to usher them off the ground as his smile widened to a grin. "We're going on patrol. Let's see what you guys and gals can do."

* * *

Much like the Tusken Raiders of Tatooine, the Rattataki tribesmen lived far removed from any other settlements besides their own, though unlike Tatooine, none of those settlements were large cities. What few non-tribal colonies existed on Rattatak hung on by the skin of their teeth, battered to death by the elements, lucky to have even one functioning spaceport. Most were so small that they went completely unnoticed.

Which made them the perfect places to hide. And watch.

The emissary's sharp, dead blue eyes squinted through fogged-up goggles into a pair of electrobinoculars. He'd observed a cruiser – a New Republic light cruiser – touch down behind the mountains, and not but fifteen minutes later, a handful of one-man fighters rose over the craggy peaks, flying in standard patrol formation as they swept out into the sky. Everything he'd seen, he'd relayed to his contact, who was growing more and more excited by the second.

"They've made it, then," the contact's voice cracked through a comlink. "Excellent."

From behind the makeshift mask that shielded his face from the flying sand, the emissary smiled. "Just where you said they would be, Senator. Your coordinates were exact. General Hux will reward you handsomely for this, I assure you."

He could all but see the greedy smile stretch across Ro-Kiintor's face. "I expect no less," the Senator replied, almost as if he could feel his purse getting heavier as he spoke. "And what will your… other contacts do with this information once they've received it? Surely when Hux learns he is being so closely watched, he will want to attack immediately."

"No," the emissary affirmed, lifting his goggles from his eyes and squinting into the star-sprayed Rattataki sky. Calculatingly he watched the starfighters, zeroing in on the sleek black X-wing that led the patrol. "I don't think so. We'll wait a few months, perhaps a year. Let them get comfortable. Let them think they've gotten the upper hand. _That's_ when we will strike."

His beady blue eyes locked on the black X-wing again. As he followed it as it unassumingly cut through the air, Agent Terex of the First Order sneered.

"Besides, my friend," he gloated as the X-wing dipped behind a cloud, "we can't take _all_ the fun out of things, now can we?"


	24. Watching and Waiting

_Chapter 24: Watching and Waiting_

With every day that passed the New Republic's numbers grew, and by the end of the first month new arrivals were taking up residence outside the Rattataki village. What started as a small conglomeration of scattered tents and short buildings about ten standard miles away quickly grew into a massive military outpost. Command towers and barracks darkened the horizon, sprawling across the desert for nearly a mile. From the air, it ran like a long, white scar along the sand.

As much as an adventure as living with the Rattataki had been and as fond of them as he had become, Poe was relieved to be spending the majority of his time inside of a climate-controlled hangar again. Rapier and Echo's fighters had sustained more than a little damage battling the elements, and the pilots had all lost count of how many times an overheated console or engine had delayed patrols. Now that they didn't have to deal with that problem, their current scouting mission had started without a hitch.

Which was a miracle, especially considering what weighed on this one.

"We're splitting up, Commander?" Tover's voice nervously rang through his comms.

Poe nodded. "You're gonna be fine, Echo One. I promise. Just stay low and keep an eye out, like you've always done. Nothing to worry about."

"With respect, sir, it's not Echo I'm worried about. It's…"

Poe's brow knotted. "Speak freely, Lieutenant. What is it?"

Tover sighed. "Look, I know every time we've left orbit we've seen nothing, but if the you-know-what _does_ decide to make an appearance and you're up there by yourselves…."

Tover's voice trialed, leaving only the muffled scream of Poe's engines to fill the cockpit. Every time he took Echo on an orbital patrol that thought crept in the back of his mind, though he'd kept it to himself. He didn't know how to respond.

"It's been ten months, Tover," Kit spoke up. "If they were gonna do something, I think they'd have done it by now. I seriously doubt they know we're here. We're gonna be just fine, buddy. You've got absolutely nothing to worry about."

Poe could just see the worried frown sink across Tover's face. "I hope you're right, Rapier Five," the young lieutenant replied.

"For what it's worth, Tover," Varsha cut in, "I believe him. Has he ever given us bad info? Not once. They don't know we're here. If anybody's getting surprised, it would be _them_ , not us."

Poe grinned. "What she said."

"And besides, guys," Calo added. "Rapier's _Rapier_. It doesn't matter who comes at them. They can beat anybody."

Again Poe fell silent. _You have no idea how much I wish that were true, pal_.

"In the meantime," Karé came in, "The Pathfinders will be needing some eyes in the sky here soon. Rattataki scouts thought they saw movement in the mountains last night. Get down there and run some scans; see if you pick up on any life forms. If you do, send the coordinates directly to Lieutenant Colonel Criss. His guys will take it from there. That clear?"

Twelve voices responded in unison: "Yes, ma'am."

"Fantastic." She gave Tover a thumbs-up and flashed him a bright, reassuring grin from her cockpit. "Take 'em out, Echo Leader."

Tover's X-wing dipped. "Roger that. Echo Squadron, form up and stay tight on me. Set for coordinates 3746…."

Echo Squadron dropped almost to the ground, zipping along the foot of the mountains and out of sight. As they disappeared below them, Poe smiled. "They've come a long way in the past ten months."

"Yeah, they have," Karé concurred. "Used to be nervous to even be in the same room with us, and now look at them. Watching our backs. Gathering their own intelligence. Mama's proud."

Kit chuckled. "I can't wait to see where they wind up."

The others hummed in agreement and carried on, though Poe hardly registered the rest of their conversation. He really could not have been prouder of Echo – especially of Tover, Varsha, and Calo – and he enjoyed every last second of his time with them, but that didn't keep him from being reminded of the true reason the young squadron had come to him in the first place.

It had been a year since the first engagement on Dantooine, and even longer since Rapier was first attacked at Daxam IV. Enough time had passed, he had told himself over and over again. More than enough time. He hated that it still bothered him. And it _desperately_ needed to happen.

But that didn't make the hole in his heart – the wound that time was supposed to heal – any less tender.

Poe's heart sank. It _had_ to happen. And had to happen soon.

How in the worlds would he tell the others?

His fighter broke free from the gravitational pull. BB-8 beeped behind him.

"Commander?" Karé's voice pulled him back to reality.

"Yeah?"

"Our coordinates are set. We're ready when you are."

She knew something was bothering him. Poe could hear it in her voice. He sighed. He'd get asked about it later.

"On my mark," he replied. "Stay sharp, guys. There's no telling what's out there."

"Roger that."

He keyed a few controls, and the deep black of space disappeared in a hypnotizing swirl of light.

* * *

Had it not been for the goggles and coarse wrap Jaren had tangled around his head before they headed out, the sand that flew up around him would have bit into his face like it stung at his hands. Still he held the electrobinoculars to his eyes, scourging the mountaintops for the rumor that Yiema and Xoreg had presented him with earlier that afternoon.

Enemy scouts.

He'd locked onto the same spot for the past half an hour. At any second he expected a bald, heavily tattooed head peer out around the rocks, but nothing ever became of it.

"I don't see anything," he murmured. "Echo hasn't picked up on anything. But that doesn't mean that there _is_ nothing, Skid." Replacing the electrobinoculars on his belt, he turned to one of the Pathfinders that stood next to him. "Take your guys and survey the area. Give you something to do while we're waiting on more of Echo's scans."

The Pathfinder nodded. "Yes, sir."

"They will see you before you see them," Yiema whispered. "Be alert."

Jaren put a hand on the Pathfinder's shoulder. "Good luck, Sirra."

The Pathfinder smiled and signaled to her squad to fall in and move out. They hardly made a sound as they disappeared behind the rocks. Taking a long swig of water from his canteen, Jaren flopped on the large red bolder Yiema and Xoreg were sitting on and lifted his goggles from his eyes, squinting up at the sky as the wind died out. Rapier's silhouettes splotched the sun for all of a standard second before they snapped into hyperspace. Xoreg's brow furrowed as he watched them, his deep voice rumbling a question in his native tongue.

"What'd he say?" Jaren asked.

Yiema too was fixated on the sky. "He asked where they were going."

"Orbital patrol," Jaren replied. "You're not the only one who thinks there're bad guys on your doorstep."

"Your enemy has come for you?"

Jaren shook his head. "That's what we're trying to figure out." He sighed. "For our sake and yours, we're hoping we don't find anything."

Yiema turned to face him. "And why would they harm us? They may not know we exist. We've done nothing to provoke them."

"I don't know," he frowned. "They live to pick fights. Their predecessors ruled the entire galaxy. Then we beat them in a war about thirty years back and took it from them. Guess they never got over it, because now, they want it back. And they'll stop at nothing to get it."

Yiema's face fell. "Then your people are not at peace, either?"

"Some would like to think we are, but every day they get closer. They've already broken the treaty we made with them – killed hundreds of our soldiers – but the higher-ups haven't done a damn thing about it."

Yiema wrinkled her nose. "Why in Rattatak's name not?"

"I don't know." His eyes wandered to the sky. "But they'd better come to their senses before…."

Yiema nodded. "I understand."

Jaren's comm beeped. "Got something."

Skid wheeled around. "A hit? Where?"

"Looks to be a few miles in. Moving this way."

"Anything we should be afraid of, sir?"

"We'll find out," Jaren said, standing and reaching for his blaster rifle. He waved to the rest of his men, who scrambled to their feet. "Move out!"

* * *

When the final scan brought back nothing but a small piece of space debris, a considerable weight had lifted from Poe's chest. The order to return to base – which all the Rapiers were grateful for – had tumbled out of his mouth almost faster than his mind could process the words. Now, under the cover of the stars, he sat on the nose of his X-wing, a mile-wide grin pinned to his face as he lost himself in the one thing he'd spend his entire existence doing if his existence would let him:

Talking to _her_.

"How have we already known each other for a _year_ now?"

Poe chuckled. He sat forward a little, leaning on his elbows as if he were looking her in the eye. "Let me blow you mind even further, doc. Three more weeks, and we would have been together for a year."

"Yeah." He could practically hear the grin that had shot across Mila's face. "Yeah, you're right. _Damn_. Happy… almost anniversary, babe. That's insane."

Poe beamed, lying back and looking up at the stars. "Just wish I'd have gotten to see your pretty face for a little more of it."

"Right back atcha, flyboy." She chuckled softly.

Poe's dark eyes drifted across Hoth, which shone bright white against the black Rattataki sky. "I can't begin to tell you how much I miss you."

Mila sighed longingly. "I miss you too, baby," she whispered.

"There's so much I'd tell you about this place if I could," Poe went on. "About the things we've seen, the people we've met. They seemed so… different, at first. Honestly we were terrified of them. But they're just like we are, Mila. Want to live their lives and keep their families safe, protect the ones they love. I wish you could meet them, sweetheart. They'd _love_ you. Just as much as…."

The words died on his tongue just as they had gotten the courage to finally come out of his mouth. He went silent.

_Damn it, Dameron. Again?_

"Babe?" Mila asked. "What is it?"

A defeated smile slipped across Poe's face. "Nothing, sweetheart. Lost my train of thought."

_It's three words. What are you so afraid of?_

Something on the other side of the comm beeped. Static rushed out of the speaker as Mila stood.

"If I could just spend the rest of my life doing nothing but talking to you, I would." She sighed wistfully. "Unfortunately, duty calls."

Poe's shoulders sagged. "I'll let you go, then. As much as I don't want to."

Mila giggled softly, and he clung to the sound like it was the last time he'd ever hear it. "I'll talk you in a month. If I don't turn into an ice block first."

"Please don't."

"I'll try. I make no promises."

Poe laughed. "See you soon, sweetheart," he said, his voice softening. If he could have kissed her just then, he would have. "Hang in there."

"You too, baby. Over and out."

The comm clicked off, and Poe frowned at the sky.

It would be another long month. Four weeks. Thirty days before he got to hear that sweet voice again. He was already counting. His mind slipped away, lost in the thoughts he kept hidden away of her – her voice, her soft smile, the way she fit in his arms like the last piece of a puzzle.

Two years was nowhere near as agonizing as three, but he still had _two whole years_ to wait until he could actually see her again.

"Poe?"

The Rapier sat up and peered out of the cockpit. "Calo," he greeted. "Something up?"

The young pilot shook his head. "No. But I was out here getting some air and I… I thought I heard my sister."

Poe grinned. "You did."

"How is she?"

"Doing just fine, pal. She misses the hell out of you."

Calo smiled a little. "I miss her too, Commander."

"You and me both, Echo Six. Like hell."

Calo took a step forward, gesturing towards the ladder that led up to the cockpit. "Do you… do you mind if I—"

"Not at all, buddy." Poe patted the side of his fighter. "Come on up."

Slowly, Calo situated himself at the very top of the ladder, being small enough that he could wrap his arms around the rungs and sit on the stairs with no trouble. He let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

Poe's brow furrowed. "You sure nothing's up, Calo?"

Calo twiddled his thumbs and stared at his toes. "I just… uh… blast, how do I say this?" He stopped to fight for his bearings. "If she trusts you enough to stay with you without even knowing where you are…"

His voice trailed off. Poe frowned. "Speak freely, Calo. I'm not holding you to anything."

Calo shifted nervously. "If she can do that, that means she trusts you more than she's trusted anybody in a relationship in a really long time. I mean a _really_ long time. And… not that you're gonna do this, and I don't think you ever would, but she's been hurt pretty badly by guys who've wrecked that trust. I mean, she was about to meet somebody at the alter and he… there was another woman, and it was, it was bad." He held out a hand defensively. "Not in any way saying _you_ would do that to her, because you're actually decent, but—"

"Calo," Poe gently cut him off, a reassuring smile on his face. "I'd never dream of that. You _know_ that."

Calo sighed, nodding. "Take care of her, Commander. _Please_."

Poe clapped him on the back. "I promise you I will, buddy."

A smile started on Calo's freckled face. "She said she was in good hands. I should've just listened to her."

Poe grinned. "I appreciate that."

Calo nodded awkwardly. He looked up at the sky. "So—"

A loud, low siren suddenly cut him off. Both pilots nearly jumped out of their skin.

"This a drill?" Calo asked, his eyes wide.

Now troop transports were coming out of the hangar over their heads, overflowing with heavily-armed Pathfinders. Poe's brow furrowed. "I don't think…."

His comm beeped. Before he could answer it, Jaren's hurried voice tumbled out of the speaker:

"We need all units back down to the Rattataki now," he barked, blasterfire erupting behind him. "We're under attack. I repeat, the village is under attack!"


	25. Skeujam-Ailida

_Chapter 25: Skeujam-Ailida_

"Form a perimeter around the village!" Jaren barked into his comlink as he tore through the sand. "Double up around the cave entrance. Keep them _out_ of that cave, no matter what the cost!"

They got to the outskirts. Tazeo and a large group of other young Rattataki men ran to meet them. Xoreg hastily gave orders, his voice booming over the steadily rising noise. As quickly as their feet would let them, they all sprinted back to the village. Jaren threw himself down behind a crate next to a few of his men.

"You want us to open fire now?" Skid yelled as Jaren fumbled with his blaster rifle.

"Hold!" Jaren barked. "I can't see them!"

Chaos.

Drums rumbled in the distance. The mountains shook with oncoming footsteps. Rattataki and Pathfinders alike scrambled for anything even remotely resembling a weapon and sprinted to defensive positions. Children screamed.

But in the middle of the mess, Yiema held her ground. Blazing white-grey eyes fixed to the base on the mountains, she clenched her fists at her side and waited. A bitter frown warped her face. Xoreg mirrored her.

They were perfectly serene. Accepting.

And it was one of the most terrifying things Jaren had ever seen.

Rocks slid down the mountainside. An enemy hunting party swarmed over the cliffs like hundreds of black ants. Xoreg drew his scimitar, raising it into the air and bellowing a chant that his own soldiers immediately answered. Blades rang as they were unsheathed. Chills ran down Jaren's spine as he watched them.

Xoreg's blade lowered in his hand, and the entire fighting force charged. Metal clanked on metal; Rattataki screamed as they took their last breaths.

Skid shifted uneasily. "Now, sir?"

"Hold!"

Xoreg's line broke, and his men poured back into the village. The enemy – whose faces were covered in solid black paint – ran in after them.

That was what Jaren had been waiting for. He took aim.

"Let them have it!"

They opened fire, their blaster bolts daring the enemy Rattataki to come any closer. Blue Rattataki blood soaked the ground, its stench wafting up Jaren's nose with the smoke of plasma that rose in front of him. Screams pierced the air.

Then, seemingly from nowhere, it went silent. When the smoke cleared, Jaren saw why.

The entire party had been caught in the crossfire. Xoreg's men cheered. Next to him, Skid rushed to pull out his electrobinoculars, raising them to his dark eyes and peering into the distance.

"You see anything?" Jaren asked.

Skid shook his head. "Just a bunch of bodies. I think we got them all."

Jaren grinned. "Some ambush," he scoffed, yanking himself to his feet and walking out into the open. He turned back to Yiema. "See? What'd we tell you?"

She didn't answer. Her eyes bugged.

Jaren's brow furrowed. "What?"

Before she could answer him, he was thrown to the side, colliding hard with the solid side of a red-rock hut. Soon it crumbled to the ground, its ruins barreling through the air towards the village. Instantly the Rattataki behind him panicked.

Blood trickled down his temple. He tried to stand, but his feet were knocked out from under him. Snatching up his blaster rifle, Jaren rolled over to face his attacker, who he expected to be right on top of him.

But the closest enemy to him was over fifty feet away. And she was only one of ten. A small group – one that could easily be overrun or shot down – but no one moved. Everyone seemed caught in the same confused, terrified stupor.

But it was only ten people. Ten _unarmed_ Rattataki women, who were all much smaller than they were. Why hadn't Xoreg charged?

The leader waved her hand through the air, and half of Jaren's scattered men were thrown through the air. The other Pathfinders opened fire, but the bolts evaporated in the air. It was then he understood.

 _Wikkjaz_.

And, behind them, the second wave. But it was no hunting party.

It was an army. An army of _thousands_.

" _Kriff_."

The _wikkjaz_ crossed the border into the village, and all hell broke lose. Airborne pieces of buildings and tents crushed anyone unlucky enough to be in their path. The second wave slammed into Xoreg's men so quickly that Jaren soon lost sight of them. He aimed into the throng, trying to pick off the large warrior that had effectively pinned Tazeo down, but they were so close together….

He could hit a friend. It was too risky.

He lowered the weapon. This wasn't a fight that could be won at long range. Drawing his tactical knife, he jumped onto the enemy tribesman's back and thrust his weight backwards, bringing the Rattataki down on top of him. A flailing elbow rammed into his eye. Dazed and struggling to hold on, he wrapped his legs around the Rattataki's waist, freed his knife hand, and slit his throat.

Tazeo quickly stood, throwing the dead body to the side and pulling Jaren back on his feet. Back to back, the two struggled to hold the oncoming tribesmen off. Soon blaster fire erupted at the mouth of the cave behind them. Jaren's heart leapt into his mouth.

All who couldn't fight – the sick, the wounded, children – were trapped inside.

If the _wikkjaz_ got into that cave, it would be over.

The closer he got, the clearer the grim scene became. Bellowing angrily, Xoreg slammed a warrior nearly three times Jaren's size over his shoulder and into the ground, the splintering of his bones against the rock cracking in the horrified Pathfinder's ear. The _laudan_ powered through the crowd, snapping the necks and slitting the throats of anyone he could get his hands on.

But that didn't keep the _wikkjaz_ from coming.

"Hold them back!" he thundered, flying through the sand towards them. He gunned a few more of the enemy Rattataki down as he ran. "Hold them back!"

The Pathfinders rained another volley down on the enemy, but they just kept coming. If one was killed, another leapt from the darkness to take his place. Blaster bolts evaporated midair. Walking through the chaos as if she were walking through a morning market, the head _wikkjaz_ stopped just before the mouth of the cave. Calling on her power – which Jaren was now absolutely certain was the Force – to surround her, she picked up a dead Rattataki's scimitar, slathered the blade with poison, and bolted towards the entrance.

Only to be tackled to the ground by Xoreg.

Screaming in rage as she rushed back to her feet, the _wikkjaz_ wheeled to face him, blocking every one of his blows as if she knew where they would land before Xoreg even thought to make them. The _laudan_ grabbed for her neck, but she ducked out of the way just before he could grab her. She kicked him in the chest. He stumbled.

He was getting tired.

Hurdling him to the ground with the Force, the _wikkjaz_ pounced on top of him. Flailing desperately under her weight and that of the power she harnessed, Xoreg fought with everything in him to free himself, but there was no use.

A sadistic grin stretched across her face, the _wikkjaz_ lifted the poisoned scimitar above her head and plunged it into Xoreg's stomach.

The _laudan_ howled, and all of his people that surrounded him panicked. Before the _wikkjaz_ could stand, Tazeo ripped her off of his _laudan_ 's mortally wounded body, trapping her head between his massive hands and snapping her neck.

The other nine pushed towards the cave.

Yiema bolted to her husband's side, standing over him and shooting everyone who got close down with a homeless blaster she had found. Tears streamed down her face, and the scream that tore from her lungs would haunt Jaren for the rest of his life. Absent-mindedly he fired at the oncoming witches, but to no avail.

They were overrun.

Gritting his teeth, be ran from his cover and dropped to the ground next to the wounded _laudan_. When he caught Yiema's eye, his heart sank to his toes.

"Surrender, Colonel," she cried. "We will have to if we want to live."

Jaren's chest tightened. He wouldn't surrender. Not yet.

He fumbled for his comm. He kicked himself for not having done it sooner.

"Squadron up!" he desperately shouted. "We need air support!"

"Colonel!" Yiema despaired. "Look around you! It is _over._ If you bring any more of your people here, you will lead them to their deaths!"

Jaren locked eyes with her.

"We'll see about that."

* * *

Engines shrieked as Rapier and Echo lifted from the permacrete and charged towards the village. A shaking hand wrapped around the stick, Calo squinted at the tangle of flames and stray blaster bolts that loomed in the distance. He swallowed hard.

"We sure about this?" he quaked.

"As long as you guys stay with us and follow your orders," Poe replied, his voice remarkably steady, "you will be perfectly fine. They're on the ground; you're in the air. If anybody's in trouble, it sure as hell isn't you. This is just glorified target practice."

Calo nodded. _He's right,_ he told himself. _He's right. Stop panicking. He's right._

"Rapier Two, Rapier Three, tight on me."

Karé and Iolo answered in unison: "Yes sir."

"All teams accelerate to attack speed."

Calo keyed a few controls, and his A-wing surged forward, the sheer speed he was traveling at pinning him farther back into his seat. He took a deep breath.

_Poe's right. You're gonna be fine._

The others dipped towards the ground. Calo followed suit. His heart jumped into his mouth. The village rushed towards him; his finger wrapped around the trigger.

His first real attack run had begun.

_You're gonna be fine. You're gonna be fine…._

* * *

"Seventeen men do not win a battle alone, Colonel!" Yiema retorted. "Can you not hear me? Look at this. Look at _him!_ " She gestured to her feet where Xoreg still lay, his hand tightly wrapped around her ankle as he fought to stay alive. "You will get us all killed—"

A long, low shriek drowned out all the noise on the battlefield. All the Rattataki – even the _wikkjaz_ – froze in their tracks, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.

Jaren, however, knew exactly what it was.

Three Rapiers shot into view, hailing ion cannon fire on the enemy as they lead the rest of the fighters past. Six of the _wikkjaz_ now lay dead. The enemy, now genuinely afraid for their lives, scattered.

And the X-wings were coming back around.

Cries of despair morphed into excited cheers. Even Yiema was smiling.

"Good to see you, Rapier One," Jaren chuckled into his comm. "Was beginning to think you guys would never show up."

Poe laughed from the other side. "We thought you'd never ask."

His black X-wing shot across the sand, leveling more enemy Rattataki as it passed. The _wikkjaz_ fought to vaporize his fire, but it came too heavily too quickly.

Finally, the last of the _wikkjaz_ collapsed to the ground. The rest of the enemy recoiled to the hills, watching the sky in terror as Echo Squadron cut off their escape. Yiema's tears of despair turned to tears of joy.

"I should never have underestimated them," she whispered.

Bellowing in his native tongue, Tazeo rallied what remained of his tribe's fighting force and pelted after the enemy. Yiema's grateful smile widened as she watched them go.

Xoreg coughed beneath her, and Yiema sank to her knees, pulling her husband into her arms. Not daring to look at the wound, Yiema focused on his face, brushing the dirt off the back of his head. Jaren knelt next to them, resting his hand on the _laudan_ 's shoulder.

Yiema smiled down at him. "Do you see them?" she murmured in her native tongue.

Xoreg weakly pointed towards the sky with a shaking hand, his eyes filled with wonder.

" _Skeujam-ailida_ ," he whispered, the grin on his face widening. " _Skeujam-ailida…._ "

Jaren's brow furrowed. "What's he saying?" he asked.

Yiema turned to look at him. He swore he'd never seen someone so sorrowful, so scared, and yet so relieved in his entire life. She smiled radiantly.

" _Skeujam-ailida_ ," she echoed. "Skyfire."

Calo's A-wing shot overhead, unleashing a barrage of bright crimson cannon fire onto the last of the retreating enemy.

"Skyfire," Jaren repeated thoughtfully. He softly smiled.

It was certainly fitting.

"Rattatak has certainly shown favor to them," Yiema quietly went on. "And on us, for sending them with you. They've… saved us. Just as you said they would."

Jaren's smile widened to a grin. "They're pretty good at that."

Xoreg coughed again. A thin trickle of blue blood streamed from his nose. Cradling his face in her hands, Yiema pressed her forehead to his, whispering to him in his own language. Hesitantly he nodded. A trembling hand reached up to touch her face.

"He needs to be taken back inside," Yiema's voice shook. "If there's any hope of saving him. I am no _wikkjaz_ , but I have to try."

She stood and called to Tazeo, who sped to her side. Carefully, the two slung Xoreg's massive arms around their shoulders and hauled him to hid feet. Xoreg screamed. Trying to quell his anguish, Yiema reached up and grasped his hand, whispering reassuringly to him as they started off towards the cave. His rifle raised in case of trouble, Jaren trailed behind them. Wounded Rattataki moaned in the sand; a few of Xoreg's men even reached towards him in a silent call for help. Again he reached for his comm.

"Skid?" he asked. "You read?"

"Loud and clear, Colonel."

Jaren sighed in relief. "I need you to call med down here. They're gonna need help with their wounded."

"Already did, sir," Skid replied. "Right around the time Rapier and Echo showed up."

"Good. Send a few of them over here. The _laudan_ 's hurt. Bad."

"But sir—"

"That's an order, Skid. They _cannot_ afford to lose him—"

"Sir, they're not trained to treat Rattataki. They hardly know what they're doing with non-human sentients, much less any this rare. They're trying to figure it out, but it's not going well. Their captain's telling me if they had help, they could do it."

Jaren's face darkened.

"But where are we gonna find that kind of help? And can we get it fast enough, sir? The closest elite med unit I know of is on Hosnian Prime. It would take them at least a day to get out here. The Rattataki don't have that long."

"No," Jaren frowned. "They don't."

"Then what do we do?"

"The only thing we can do, Skid. Ask for reinforcements." His eyes drifted back to Xoreg.

"And hope they get here in time."

* * *

She was dead sleep when the sirens went off.

Flailing to kick the blankets off as she sat up, Mila dove out of her cot, pulled on her combat boots, snatched up her blaster and sprinted from the room. Her heart raced.

 _They're here_ , she thought. _This is it. They've found us_.

She rounded the corner and barreled into the hangar. Though instead of the rush she expected to find – or the TIE fighter engines she expected to hear howling outside – the hangar was relatively calm. And the only engines she could pick out where those of the troops transports firing up behind her. She spotted Sundar standing next to one of them, his gear completely packed up.

"Colonel!" she called, running towards him. "What's going on? Is it—"

"Everything here is fine," Sundar reassured, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We've just gotten a call from General Antilles, and it's urgent. We're being relocated. And I hope you brought your light weights. You're gonna need them."

Mila's brow furrowed. "What? Why?"

Sundar smiled. "Go pack your bags, Lieutenant," he ordered. "We're going to Rattatak."


	26. We Made It

_Chapter 26: We Made It_

They'd hit their target.

Not only had they hit it, they'd completely _obliterated_ it. As they watched the avalanche crumbled down the mountainside, as the last of Xoreg's Rattataki collided with and destroyed their enemy, Calo and Varsha cheered.

" _Nice_ shot!" Poe called through his comm, laughing.

Their A-wings doubled back in tandem, charging back towards the rest of the squad. Tover took up the rear.

"You see any more, Rapier Leader?" he asked.

"Just the ones we're _not_ supposed to shoot," the commander replied. "I think we're done here. Form up on me. Let's go home."

As Calo fell into formation with him squad, he couldn't stop smiling. _I did it,_ he thought. _I can't believe I actually did it!_

Before he knew it, his fighter was hovering over the permacrete and into the hangar. Fresh air wafted into his lungs as the canopy hissed open. He stood and took off his helmet, and the second his feet hit the ground, a laughing Karé nearly tackled him.

"You see that?" she cried, grinning ear to ear. "I told you you could do it, kiddo! I _told_ you!"

Karé released him, and he bashfully smiled at his toes. "Thanks, Lieutenant." The rest of his squadron shouted back and forth to one another, but he hardly heard them. He was hardly even aware of Tover and Varsha coming up beside him or Poe calling them to attention. He felt himself blushing.

Poe must have talked to them for ten minutes, but Calo didn't hear a word of it.

_She hugged me._

"Good work, Echo Squadron," Poe finished. "You're dismissed."

Still grinning at the ground, Calo shuffled into the pilot's prep room and out of sight, Varsha's arm casually slung around his wiry shoulder.

"Go get some rest," Kit called after them. "You deserve it."

The last of Echo's pilots disappeared through the door. Iolo grinned.

"I am so crazy proud of them," the Keshian beamed, shaking his head as he ducked back under his fighter.

Kit nodded. "They flew well. _Really_ well." His brow furrowed as a reminiscing smile stretched across his face. "I wonder what the others would have thought of them? They'd definitely be getting a kick out of this, huh Commander?"

Though he obviously tried to hide it, Rapier One looked stricken. Kit's brow furrowed. "Commander?"

Sighing heavily, Poe sat down next to him, folding his calloused hands in his lap and staring at the floor. Karé stopped what she was doing and came over.

"Poe, what is it?"

Poe's jaw bulged as swallowed. "I should have told you guys earlier," he started slowly. "I just…" He sighed. "It was too soon, and I didn't want to weigh you down with it. I didn't know how to tell you."

Kit and Iolo exchanged glances. Muran frowned. Karé put a hand on his shoulder.

"Tell us what, One?" she said.

Poe took a deep breath. "Deso gave us this mission so we could train pilots. You all know that." His face fell. "But he also wants Rapier to fill out again. So he sent us Echo... so we could draw replacements from them."

Kit's heart dropped. His shoulders sagged forward as his eyes sank to the ground. "Oh."

"I don't like it any more than you guys do," Poe went on, "and I'm sorry I'm springing this on you now, but it's got to happen. We've got orders to carry out. We've got a galaxy to protect. And we can't do that on our own."

The others slowly nodded.

"Besides," Poe mused, standing and looking out at the fading starlight. "I don't think they would want us to."

* * *

Troop transports shook on turbulence as they dropped through Rattatak's atmosphere, so roughly that Mila had to find something to grab onto to steady herself. She craned her long neck and peered out the window. New morning light jutted across the sand, warming the rooftops of what Mila assumed was the base.

 _Holy kriff_ , she thought. _It's huge_.

The transports surged onwards for a few minutes more before Mila felt them dropping. Landing gear groaned into place. As the gangplank set into the sand, Mila double-checked to make sure she had her supplies, slung her blaster rifle over her shoulder, and stepped out into the open air.

As soon as she laid eyes on the village – or what remained of it – she froze.

Ion cannon bolts scarred the ground in places. Fires still lightly burned. Buildings that still stood gaped open; those that didn't littered the ground with tent scraps and dead tribesmen. As she came forward, she lost count of the number of bodies she stepped over.

What appeared to have once been a thriving community was now a graveyard.

Sundar's reassuring hand found her shoulder. "Let's move, Lieutenant."

Biting her lip, Mila slowly edged into the village proper. Nothing but the wailing of the wind reached her ears. It was eerily still. Convinced the only survivors were in the cave that loomed in front of her, Mila followed the rest of her unit towards it, walking over a large, beat-up canvas that had once been a tent.

The second her boots touched it, it moved. Mila jumped.

"Hello?" she called, reaching for her blaster.

Whatever was trapped under the canvas whimpered faintly. Drawing her tactical knife, she ripped the fabric open and tossed it aside. What she was met with brought heat to the backs of her eyes.

A Rattataki woman lay dead near her feet, having been crushed to death by the bolder that had come down on her shoulders. Behind her was the source of the whimpering: a little Rattataki girl, holding a broken arm to her chest, crying softly. Her striking white-grey eyes wide with fear, she watched Mila's every move.

"Hey, sweetie," Mila softly greeted, carefully maneuvering through the ruins in front of her. "You don't have to be scared. It's all over now."

The little girl pushed herself against the remains of a tent pole in an attempt to get away from the newcomer. Mila's face softened.

"It's okay," she cajoled, kneeling in front of her. "I'm a friend. I'm not gonna hurt you." She gingerly laid her rifle on the ground. "See?"

Still the little girl didn't move.

Mila pointed to her own arm, then back to the girl. "You're hurt," she said. She held out her hand. "I can help you."

Warily, the little girl stared at Mila's upturned palm. Mila slightly inched forward, but the girl retreated again. Tears streamed down her face.

If she was going to help this child, she needed to gain her trust first. Sticking a hand in her pocket, Mila produced three small pieces of shuura fruit chew – a commodity her parents had sent her in droves within her first week on Hoth – and held them out to her.

"Are you hungry?"

The girl's brow furrowed.

"It's food," Mila tried again. "Candy. You—" she plucked a piece out of her hand and popped it into her mouth '—you eat it."

Cautiously, the little girl reached for a piece herself, eyeing it suspiciously before slowly beginning to suck on it. All of a sudden her face lit up. Though she still cried, she smiled.

Mila chuckled. "Pretty good, huh?"

The little girl's only response was snatching up the last piece. Mila laughed. Again she tried moving forward, but this time there was no recoil from her patient. She soothingly patted the girl's shoulder before gently taking her little arm in her hands, cringing as she got her first real look at the wound.

There was plenty of blood, but the bone hadn't penetrated skin. To her relief, all Mila had to do was set it and bind it. She administered some medication to numb the area – something that, judging from the look on her face, the little girl was relieved to receive – and cleaned the blood away. Once she got a better look at the break site, she pulled out several cravats from her pouch to make a sling and secured the girl's arm in it.

"There," Mila smiled, sitting back. "That's got to feel better."

The smile on the little girl's face was the only thanks Mila needed. Standing, she bent and lifted the child into her arms. "Here," she whispered. "Come with me."

She took a step away from the ruined tent, but the girl squirmed and whimpered again. "What is it?"

Before she lost her grip and dropped her, Mila set her back down. A little wobbly from the medication Mila had given her, she swung over another downed tent pole and hopped back into the ruins.

Back to the dead Rattataki – whom Mila realized was the girl's mother. Heat rose to the backs of the medic's eyes.

"Poor thing," she whispered, heartbroken.

"Lieutenant!"

Mila wheeled around. Sundar pelted across the sand to her.

"There's one in the cave," he panted. "From what our protocol droids have been able to gather, he's pretty important. He's fighting us. It's bad."

Torn, Mila looked over her shoulder at the girl, who stared back up at her dejectedly.

"We've gotta move, Lieutenant. He doesn't have long."

Mila nodded, spared one last glance at the Rattataki girl – silently promising to find her again – and took off after Sundar. The closer they got to the cave, the farther into it they ran, the queasier Mila became. The metallic smell of blood wasn't what bothered her.

It was the screams.

Sundar turned down a narrow, windy corridor, pushed back a curtain of beads and black leather strips, and quickly ushered Mila into a relatively small, dimly lit room.

Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness and took in the scene in front of her, her heart stopped.

The wounded Rattataki – a man that, had he been well, could have easily snapped Mila in half – thrashed on the floor, lashing out at anyone who dared to get close to him. His bright eyes, though flooded with pain, flashed angrily.

"Somebody hold him down!" Krell barked. She moved to immobilize his flailing arms.

The second she touched him, he grabbed her by the arm and threw her into the wall. Wex, who had knelt on his other side, got caught in a savage, one-handed choke hold. He slapped the Rattataki's wrist as hard as he could in an effort to break free, but there was no use.

" _Get back!_ " Sundar thundered. "Give him some air! He's in hysterics!"

" _Xoreg!_ "

As soon as the hoarse scream pierced their ears, everyone froze. The Rattataki finally dropped Wex from his iron grip, and he almost looked guilty as he did.

A tall, slender Rattataki woman shoved her way through the throng of medics and rushed to the man's side, picking up his head and draping it into her lap. Fearfully, angrily, she chastised him, the tone of her voice commanding and pleading all at the same time. She pressed her forehead to his, holding his face in her hands and breathing deeply. Whispering to him reassuringly.

Slowly, the man relaxed.

The woman sat up and looked straight at Mila, nodding her over. Mila's eyes bugged.

"She better have been looking at you, Colonel," she cringed.

"Nah," he replied nervously. "It's all you."

She felt him push against her shoulder, and wincing, Mila stepped forward, her hand outstretched guardedly.

The Rattataki growled at her. She recoiled.

" _Xoreg,_ " the woman begged, pleading with him in her native tongue. Her voice shook.

Blazing white-grey eyes still trained on Mila, the Rattataki quieted. Mila continued her approach.

"Hey, big guy," she said softly, cautiously kneeling by his side. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Expecting retaliation, Mila gently laid a hand on his shoulder. To her surprise, he just stared at her. Mila smiled a little.

"See?" she soothed, scooting closer so she could get a better look at his wound. "I'm a friend."

It was then she realized that as she spoke, the Rattataki woman whispered hastily to the man, her eyes flicking back and forth between him and Mila.

Almost as if she were translating.

Letting her guard down a bit, Mila reached into her pouch after an antiseptic field generator. The device hummed to life in her hand. The Rattataki tensed.

"It's okay," Mila promised. "It's not gonna hurt you. It's gonna take the pain away."

She held the device out over his stomach, and almost instantly he relaxed. Now that he was still, Mila could get a better look at the wound. She squeezed her eyes shut.

It was poisoned.

As quickly as she could, Mila wiped away the blood, made a poultice, and fixed it to the wound, applying a little bit of pressure to it so the poison would start to be drawn out. She spared a glance at the Rattataki.

But instead of eyeing her like he wanted to kill her, he weakly smiled at her. Hoarsely, he began to talk to her, reaching up and touching her face as if she were a spectacle in a dream. His eyes no longer burned in anger, but shone in wonder.

She had no idea what he was saying. All Mila knew was he was grateful. She took his massive hand in hers and gave it a squeeze, and he reclined back into the Rattataki woman's arms, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

The woman met her gaze. There were tears in her eyes.

"You must be this great healer I've heard so much about," she said. Her brow furrowed. "Mila."

Mila's eyes popped. _How the hell does she know Basic? And how does she know my name?_

"You… you know me?" she hesitantly replied.

The woman smiled. "You have friends here. Many friends. You did not know this?"

More than a little confused, Mila shook her head. "I—"

Her voice was drowned out by noise from outside. One that she hadn't heard in almost a year.

Quad engines.

Her heart racing, she stood and went over to the window on the far side of the room. Squinting into the morning sun, she made out the silhouettes of five X-wings charging across the sky. And the point—

No. Her eyes had to have been tricking her.

She suddenly leaned forward, squeezing her eyes shut and opening them again. Her eyes hadn't deceived her.

The point really _was_ painted black.

A bright smile – the brightest any of her men had seen in a long time – burst across her face.

_Poe!_

She felt Sundar come up behind her. His patted her shoulder, chuckling softly.

"He's gonna be happy to see you, Lieutenant."

* * *

She hadn't stood on a proper flight line since she'd left home. Her entire body trembling from excitement, Mila had to fight to keep her place in line. To wait to be checked in.

To _not_ sprint towards the black X-wing parked on the far side, though it was the only thing she wanted to do.

Finally her turn came. Her voice trembling, she stated her name and rank and received her room assignment. The officer smiled up at her as she handed her back her data pad.

"Welcome to Rattatak, Lieutenant."

Mila nodded a hasty thank you, shoved her datapad back in her duffle, and – heart pounding – started down the flight line.

She'd hardly walked seven feet when the excited, all-too-familiar squeal of a BB unit danced in her ears. Laughing, Mila fell to her knees as BB-8 rushed to meet her.

"Hey buddy!"

BB-8 warbled at lightspeed, rolling in circles around her and pressing up against her calf in greeting. Mila grinned.

"Doing just fine, buddy," she replied, touching the top of his dome. "And—"

Interstellar orange flashed in the corner of her eye. She looked up, and whatever she was about to tell the ecstatic droid at her feet flew out of her head as she stood. Her heart leaped.

Because finally, after nearly a year of waiting, there he was. Not in a hologram, not a figment of her imagination, but standing in front of her.

By the look on his face, she knew Poe couldn't believe it, either.

"Mila?"

She couldn't stand it any longer. She took off across the permacrete.

" _Mila!_ "

Laughing and crying all at once, Mila jumped into Poe's arms, burying her face into the crook of his neck and tangling her fingers into his tousled hair as he spun her around. She pulled back to look at him.

"Hey, flyboy!" she half-sobbed, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

He tried to speak, but she cut him off with a hard, overjoyed kiss, and the whole world suddenly stopped. Everyone else disappeared. For a moment, he was the only person alive.

Grinning from ear to ear, Poe set Mila's feet back on the ground and rested his hands on her little shoulders. "How did you get here?!"

"Somebody called for reinforcements," Mila breathlessly replied, running her trembling fingers through his hair. "And Antilles sent us." She threw her arms back around his neck, holding him as close as she possibly could. "Eleven months is _way_ too long."

Poe kissed the side of her head, rubbing her back and rocking her in his embrace. "Beats the hell out of _three kriffing years!_ "

Mila giggled loudly. Her entire body shaking, she clung to him, afraid that if she let go or pulled back or even breathed wrong she'd wake up on a frozen cot back on Echo Base. She could hardly believe it was happening. This _had_ to have been a dream. It was too good to be true.

"Hey!" someone exclaimed.

She didn't have to look to see who it was. "Kit!"

"She returns from the land of snow tears and snot-sickles!" the young Rapier called loudly, holding out his arms for a quick hug. Karé, Iolo, and Muran were right behind him. "How ya doing?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Mila gushed, releasing Kit and throwing her arms around Karé and Iolo. "I'm— _Jaren! Calo!_ "

She hardly had time to get their names out of her mouth before they simultaneously cannoned into her, laughing ecstatically.

"She's not frozen!" Calo yelled. "She's not frozen!"

"Yeah," Jaren joked, wrapping her up in a big bear hug. "Now she gets to _fry_ like the rest of us!"

Mila laughed and buried her face into her big brother's shoulder. "Good to see you, nerfherder," she said, pulling back and lightly punching him in the arm. "I missed the hell out of you. All of you."

"We missed you too, Mil," Poe said, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders. Without even thinking about it, she took one of them in hers, a soft, blissful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The others carried on in front of them, laughing and joking, and Mila suddenly felt as though no time had passed at all. Poe's grip on her hand tightened.

"What did I tell you?" he whispered in her ear. "We made it."

Mila beamed.

* * *

"These specifications are exact. Number of troops, number of fighters and transports, coordinates, _everything_." Leaning on the heels of his hands, Ro-Kiintor leered at the high-and-mighty First Order officers in front of him. "The plans for the _entire_ base, gentlemen."

From the corner of the black-walled conference room, Terex scoffed mockingly. "So much for secrets," he sneered, standing and scrutinizing the flickering holograph blueprints projected in the middle of the table. "I… _almost_ feel bad for them. They will never see us coming."

"Though _if_ we go through with this – and we only will _if_ the Supreme Leader sees it fit to do so – we can leave _no_ trail for them to follow." General Hux raised his chin, glaring down his nose contemptuously at the agent that stood adjacent to him. "In other words, you would be wise to follow your orders this time, Agent. They nearly had us on Dantooine, all because of your… overzealousness. That _will_ not happen again. Am I clear?"

Terex rolled his eyes. "Unmistakably, sir," he moped.

"We must be precise, and we must be quick," Snoke's deep, unsettling voice cracked slowly through a holotransmission. "They need to know they have overstepped their boundaries, but we have _no_ room for error." His ghostly blue likeness folded his haggard hands across his chest, his beady eyes shifting across the back of the room to a shadowy, black-masked figure pressed against the wall.

"Take your men to Rattatak. Raze their fortress to the ground. Let no one escape. If any try to, kill them. There are to be _no_ survivors."

Kylo Ren stepped forward and nodded.

"Yes, Supreme Leader," his deep, distorted voice declared. "I _will not_ fail you."


	27. Before the Sun Sets

_Chapter 27: Before the Sun Sets_

Early evening brought with it a much-appreciated, cooler breeze as it cast long, jagged shadows across the sea of Rattataki sand that sprawled in every direction. From out the side of the transport she stood in, Mila watched it ripple by, the dunes rising and falling in warm waves far beneath her feet. A content, closed-mouth smile eased across her face.

She hesitated to call the moment carefree – she knew things could change at any second – but that was exactly how she felt.

Her gaze drifted back into the transport to the cockpit. A somewhat nervous Calo sat at the controls – this being his first time flying a troop transport – with Poe and Kit on either side of him. All three were dressed in standard issue fatigues and their flight jackets as opposed to their thick flight suits. Snippets of their conversation cut in and out over the engine noise.

"…but you know what I hate?" A little bit of a pout stained Kit's his voice. "Like I really,  _really_  hate?"

Poe seemed amused, and clearly he already knew the answer.

Kit frowned. "Long. Kriffing. Distance."

Poe smiled empathetically. "I feel you there, buddy," he said, patting him on the shoulder. "It's tough."

"But  _you_  don't have to deal with it anymore," Calo pointed out from between them. "You lucked out."

The transport surged, and their voices disappeared. Mila smiled to herself as she watched them.

"….and it kriffing  _stinks,_ " Kit's voice reemerged over the growling thrusters. "But we've only got two years, three weeks, four days, eighteen hours and fifty-six seconds till they send us back home. Not that I'm counting or anything." He quickly glanced down at something in his hand; Mila couldn't tell what. "Fifty-two, fifty-one, fifty…. Stop laughing at me! I  _miss_  her, okay?"

Engine noise drowned out Poe's response, but between the clap on the back and the reassuring gleam in his eye, Mila didn't have to hear him to know what he was saying. Kit smiled appreciatively.

Calo pointed at something ahead and adjusted a few controls, his shoulders tightening nervously as he looked to Poe for an answer. Poe, who couldn't have been more at ease, simply nodded and stood to make his way towards the back of the transport. Mila felt a smile involuntarily burst across her face when she saw him coming.

"We're getting ready to land," he projected so the other three Rapiers, the rest of Echo, the several stray Pathfinders and two or three of Mila's unit that were on board could hear him. "You might want to grab something; wind's picking up, so it's gonna be a bumpy ride in."

He ducked back into the cockpit as everyone complied. Mila called after him:

"Poe?"

The Rapier looked at her over his shoulder, the starts of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Tell the pilot to breathe," Mila said, her eyes twinkling amusedly. "He's doing fine."

Poe's face gentled. "Will do, doc."

He grinned at her as he stepped back into the cockpit and sat back down next to Calo, pointing something out on the transport's console so the lieutenant could make the proper adjustments. The ship started its descent. Thick clouds of sand tunneled around them as they dropped, kicked up by the thrusters, soon falling back down to the ground and finally uncloaking the portholes when the transport landed. The engines died out, the doors hissed open.

"See?" Kit's voice drifted from the cockpit. "What'd I tell you, Echo Six? Nothing to it."

He clapped Calo on the back, stretched his legs as he stood, breathed in the cool evening air and stepped out of the transport, jogging to catch up with the others.

The retreating sun's golden light poured in through the opening, shadowing the silhouettes of the soldiers and pilots in front of Mila as they hopped out into the sand. Content to stand and take in the sunset and the movement in the rebuilding village in front of her for a moment, Mila leaned up against the threshold, the wind lightly tugging at her hair as it blew past. Her lips parted in the starts of a smile.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Poe softly came up beside her.

Mesmerized, Mila could only nod.

"Wait until you see the stars," he said, hopping down into the sand and offering her his hand as she climbed out behind him. "They'll take your breath away."

Her fingers interlocked with his, and he led her towards the village, the fading day's light casting the ruins' shadows across the sand. One of the older Rattataki men, who had a thick bandage wrapped around the top of his arm, nodded to them in greeting, the light of a grateful, awestruck smile in his tired eyes. The others around him mirrored him.

He looked to Poe and murmured something in his native language. The commander smiled and nodded. Mila's brow furrowed.

"You know what he's saying—"

A loud squeal cut her off. Poe's face lit up.

"Uh oh," he grinned, taking several big steps forward. "Incoming."

He kneeled to the ground as a few Rattataki children nearly tackled him, excitedly shouting the same phrase the old man had just whispered. Poe laughed.

"What are they saying?" Mila asked.

" _Skeujam-ailida_ ," Poe replied, rubbing the top of one of the children's heads affectionately. "Means skyfire. They've started calling all of us—" he flicked the flight wings pinned to his jacket "—that."

A smile eased across Mila's face. She looked up at the sky, imagining it black with night, ion cannon fire blazing down from the darkness as Rapier and Echo swooped in to the rescue. Pride swelled in her chest.

 _That's my guy_.

She turned to watch him again as one of the children burst out laughing and knocked him completely knocked him off his feet. Soon the others that had come with her had swarmed Poe in a mock attack, and he flopped backwards into the sand, sprawling and playing dead. A half-suppressed smile quirked on his lips as one of the children poked him in the arm, testing to see if she had actually killed him.

Brow furrowed, the little girl bent forward and scrutinized his face. She looked back up to say something to one of her friends, but the second she moved he quickly sat up and grabbed her, laughing as the kids all nearly jumped out of their skin. Young giggles erupted around him. Mila's heart swelled.

She wondered how he would be with children of his own.

If… that should ever happen. At some point.

So caught up was the lieutenant in the moment that she hardly noticed Yiema and Xoreg – who moved slowly but was thankful to be moving at all – come up alongside her. The Rattataki woman smiled sadly.

"Many of them have lost their fathers."

Mila's heart sank. Yiema smiled reassuringly.

"But he has been very kind to them," she went on, nodding towards Poe. "They all have, but especially him. They adore him."

The girl in Poe's arms took his face in her hands and pressed her forehead to his, still chortling as she scampered back to the village. The gentle gleam in his eyes as he watched her go was one Mila had never seen before, one that her heart nearly burst at the thought of. One she secretly hoped she'd get to see again.

Mila smiled. "I think the feeling's mutual."

Yiema nodded.

Mila felt Xoreg's large hand on her shoulder. With the strength back in his voice, the  _laudan_  sounded like a completely different person. Though towering body still slouched with exhaustion, restored invigoration shone in his piercing white-grey eyes. His stern face softened as he spoke to her.

"He says if it were not for you, another child would be without his father," Yiema translated. "He thanks you for saving his life."

Mila smiled bashfully. "Just another day at the office."

Yiema's brow furrowed. "I… I am not sure I follow—"

"It means it's no big deal," Mila smiled and looked up at Xoreg. "I'd do it again."

Yiema nodded, a smile of her own quirking on her lips. "Come," she said, putting a long-fingered hand on Mila's shoulder as she led her further into the village. "We have something prepared for all of your people, to thank you for saving us, but in light of everything you have done it is very small. We owe a debt to you we will never be able to repay."

A troop transport hovered in the distance, kicking up a cyclone of sand as it dropped off a few dozen Pathfinders. Yiema nodded in their direction.

"It is strange how it just… floats," she mused. "As if it has a mind of its own. Until your people arrived, none of us had seen anything like it. Many still do not understand it."

"We've got more coming to base soon," Mila explained. "You'll see them out and about. Rumor has it Command wants to test some newer-model transports with the next wave, so if you see anything in the air you don't recognize, don't worry. It's probably us."

Yiema nodded. "I will be sure to tell the others."

The two women rounded a corner and passed Tazeo, who conversed with Jaren via protocol droid translation. Mila glanced back and forth between the two of them.

"So you're the only one here who speaks Basic?" she asked.

"I am."

"How did you learn?"

Yiema smiled fondly. "An injured man wandered into our village some forty years past. My father, who was  _laudan_  at the time and was… more trusting of outsiders than most, allowed him to stay. I was a very young girl then and was curious, so I went to him. He spoke many languages, including yours and ours. After he gained my friendship, he taught me to speak in your tongue."

"What was he like?"

"He was very patient," Yiema reminisced. She lightly chuckled. "Far more patient than any of us could ever dream to be. He held the same power of a  _wikkjaz_ , but his was far, far greater. We wondered what he had done for Rattatak to entrust him with it. And the sword he carried was made of blue  _fire_."

Mila's jaw dropped in an astonished smile. Shock brought her to a halt.

Blue fire.

 _Lightsaber_.

"And some of you outsiders believe you have seen  _everything_ ," Yiema teased over her shoulder, beaming mischievously. "Name one of your people who has seen  _that!_ "

Mila laughed. Yiema grinned.

"Come," she said, nodding towards the starts of a large bonfire. "We have much to celebrate."

* * *

As night drew closer, the fire grew warmer, and after having had their fill of food spicy enough to make a krayt dragon's nose run, the most anyone could do was lounge. Stars began to peek through the fading sky's light. Comfortable, full, and completely exhausted, Mila had curled up next to Poe and rested her head on his shoulder, fighting to stay awake as the others around her talked. At the moment, none of them had a care in the world.

"…but I still don't think  _anybody_  figured out how they got up there," Tover snickered, an embarrassed blush splotched across his olive-skinned face. "All I knew is they were up there… on the roof…" His dark eyes darted nervously. "Going for it. I mean…  _really_  going for it. I saw it from the cockpit of my fighter. Didn't volunteer for a single nighttime patrol after that. It scarred me."

"In other words," Karé teased. "You learned."

Varsha leaned forward onto her knees, resting her chin on top of her hands as a peeved sigh temporarily blew a few loose strands of platinum blonde hair out of her face. "I don't know about you guys," she groaned, "but I was  _so_  ready to be out of there by the time graduation came. For that exact reason. So. Many.  _Idiots_."

Mila smirked. "You weren't the only one who left with that sentiment, Varsha."

"Everybody… sees something at least once," Kit said casually, picking a stray piece of meat out of his teeth. "Least, that's what they say. Me? I never  _saw_  anything, but I sure as hell heard about it from time to time. Not everybody here got that lucky."

"The stories  _kill_  though," Tover chuckled. "That one especially. It was… pretty bad. I doubt anyone can beat it."

"Hah!" Karé sat up from where she had been reclining. "You wanna bet, kid? 'Cause Iolo and I have seen some  _stuff_."

Tover's eyes widened. "Like what?"

The impish simper that shot across Karé's face spoke volumes long before she even opened her mouth. She leaned forward on her elbows and eyed every present member of Echo Squadron just long enough to make Tover question the sanity in his decision to probe her before she went on.

"This is the  _mother_  of all bad Academy stories," she dragged out. "To which Iolo and I were unfortunate witnesses."

Poe sharply turned to look at her, an uneasy grin pinned to his face. Muran, who had been silent as a stone beforehand, suddenly burst out laughing. Karé jerked a thumb over her shoulder towards him. "He knows what I'm talking about."

"Don't you dare," Poe cringed, worried laughter shaking his voice.

Karé beamed roguishly. "Too late!" she exclaimed, wheeling back around towards the others. "Okay, so this happened a little over ten years ago when we were still Academy rats ourselves. The four of us – Poe, Iolo, Muran, and I – had spent a couple of weeks with a few B-wing cadets studying for the final flight practical from hell. And one of those – of whom our fearless Rapier Leader didn't stand a chance against – was the buxom, morally-loose redheaded wonder known as  _Aleena Tavik._ "

"I haven't heard this story yet!" Mila sat bolt upright, cheerful amusement plastering an intrigued smile on her face.

Poe rolled his eyes, chuckling a little. "You gonna chuck me under the speeder, doc?" he sighed flatly.

"Yep." Mila turned back to Karé. "Continue."

Karé grinned wickedly as she whipped around towards Kit. "Babyface? Set the scene."

Completely basking in the moment, Kit stood and cracked his fingers in front of him before overdramatically throwing one foot into the top of a nearby supply crate. The look on his face had most of Echo tittering long before he opened his mouth.

"It's a warm summer evening on Hosnian Prime," he narrated theatrically. "The sun is setting; the stars are coming out. The sky is the color of—" his poetic abilities came screeching to a halt "—love… passion, or some other sithspit. It's kriffing beautif—!"

" _Sit down_ ," Muran grabbed the back of Kit's jacket and sharply yanked him back down into the sand with a  _thud_.

"Anyway," Karé called over the laughter. "We're all in the hangar getting ready to run that last individual flight test. Iolo and I are suited up and ready to go; we're just waiting for General Antilles to make his way down to us. I'm already nervous as hell, because that's  _Wedge_   _kriffing_   _Antilles_  that's gonna watch me fly and I'm blanking on about six maneuvers that I'm supposed to execute, but then Iolo and I realize that – to our horror – Poe has disappeared. And he's supposed to go up after us. See, we're  _good_  friends, and we don't want him to crash and burn, so we're freaking out asking around for him. Long story short, we don't find him. And it's just as I'm taking off to do my run that I realize Aleena – who Poe'd been smooth-talking for about a week by this point – is missing, too."

Varsha and Calo exchanged amused glances. Tover shifted blenchingly.

"So I get back," Karé continued, "and Iolo goes up and comes back, and by this time Poe and Aleena both  _still_  haven't turned up, so we decide to go look for them. We think Poe may have gone to get something, so we head towards the utility closet under the stairs in the back to see if he's there. I try the door and it's locked, so we start turning away to go look for him elsewhere… until we hear this weird noise from inside the closet."

She shoved the corners of her mouth down in an attempt to stifle a laugh. Iolo tried to mirror her and failed.

"So we creep up alongside this closet – it's one of those big utility closets – and just listen for a sec. And it doesn't take us too long to figure out that Poe and Aleena are in there… and they're—"

" _Not_  making a good decision," Poe butted in, starting to smile in spite of himself. "Let's put it that way."

Karé nodded in approval. "We could both hear them through that  _giant_  durasteel door. But Iolo? He could  _see_  them."

"Curse you, infrared!" Iolo light-heartedly moaned, shaking a fist at the sky.

Karé picked up where she left off. "So Iolo's giving me the play-by-play – not  _too_  much was going on 'cause they couldn't get past each others' flight suits – but they were doing what they could, if you catch my drift. We're thinking this is pretty hilarious, but Poe's also gotta go up and, you know,  _fly_ , so we're trying to come up with a way to get his attention without busting the door down. It's right about then that—" she covered her mouth in an attempt to restrain herself "—it's right about then that  _General Antilles_  comes over."

Mila guffawed. "You're kidding!"

"I can't make this up!" Karé insisted. "He came over and asked us what was up, so we're snapped at attention explaining ourselves while I'm slamming the door with the back of my foot trying to warn them. Eventually the general pushes past us and unlocks the door, so of course we're  _freaking out_  at this point, but when he opens it, Poe's standing there like nothing happened – not even a hair is out of place – and he's making up some sithspit about looking for a Harris wrench. The crazy thing? Antilles  _completely_  buys it!"

"Impressive," Mila grinned, patting Poe's arm.

Poe, who was just as amusedly horrified as Mila was, sniggered. "Just wait."

"So they start towards the front of the hangar," Karé went on, "and Iolo and I are following them 'cause Antilles asked us to, and he finally asks Poe what took him so long. And Poe looks him dead in the eye and says the  _worst_  thing he possibly could have said."

She bent over and burst out laughing, smothering her face in her hands and she fought to catch her breath. "Finish it, Iolo!" she exclaimed. "I can't do it!"

A smile shot across the Keshian's face. "He goes, 'Everything's fine, sir. Just performing a routine equipment check!'"

The entire group howled. Tover threw his hands up in the air in mock surrender, grinning as he looked at Karé through the tears that streamed down his face. "You win, Rapier Two!" he gasped. " _You win!_ "

This only escalated the hysterics. Varsha and Calo both were so red in the face that they looked like they had been hanging upside down for several minutes. Even Muran was laughing.

"How in the worlds did you get away with that?" Mila asked, catching her breath.

"I have no idea," Poe grinned at the others as they loudly carried on. "I'm watching him go and I'm thinking, 'Damn. I just got away with that.' Then I see the two of them and the looks on their faces…" He winced through the laughter shaking his voice as he nodded towards Karé and Iolo. "Ten years later and I  _still_  haven't lived that one down." He looked back at Mila, his tone a bit more serious. "I  _do_  regret that, by the way."

"I'll cut you some slack, flyboy," she said, rubbing his back affectionately. "That was back when you were young and stupid." She smirked good-naturedly. "Now you're just stupid."

Poe grinned. " _Heeey_."

Mila giggled. "I'm kidding!" she reassured. "And besides—" she leaned over to alluringly whisper in his ear "—you and I put our heads together, and I am certain we can come up with something a whole lot worse."

Poe's eyes popped with sudden surprise as he raised his eyebrows at her, the starts of an intrigued smirk tugging on his lips. Mila held his gaze just long enough to get him thinking then turned away.

"Just let me sleep for thirty more years first."

Poe laughed out loud, wrapping an arm around her as she leaned into him. He leaned back against the crate he was sitting in front of and looked up at the stars through the smoke. Like a bright blue diamond Hoth sparkled in the distance, and he was grateful he no longer needed to look so far for the woman curled up next to him.

Mila sat up a bit and craned her neck over her shoulder, smiling brightly as a little Rattataki girl scampered towards her and clambered into her lap. As soon as the firelight hit her face, Poe recognized her instantly.

"Hey, Atayav," he smiled, gently touching the back of her head. She turned and looked up at him briefly, and it was then he noticed the sling cradling the girl's arm. Concern washed over his features. "What happened to you?"

Not having understood a word of what he just said, Atayav put her head on Mila's shoulder and looked up at him, and it was then he understood. His face softened.

"She put you back together?" he asked, nodding towards his girlfriend.

Atayav might not have known what he was saying exactly, but she knew whom he was talking about.

"She's pretty good at that, isn't she?"

Atayav smiled shyly, almost as if to answer his question. Poe lightly rubbed her back, and the girl wrapped her good arm around Mila's neck. Mila melted.

"They're not the most affectionate people by our standards," he told Mila softly. "But she is a sweetheart. I swear Kit's ready to adopt her."

Mila softly smiled as Atayav sat up and looked straight at her, her bright grey eyes swimming in orange of the firelight.

"What's up?" Mila asked. "Need something?"

Atayav bluntly tugged at one of Mila's pockets, and the medic laughed out loud. "I don't have any more, sweetie," she grinned. "You ate it all!"

Poe delicately nudged Atayav's little shoulder with his finger, and when the girl turned around he was smiling softly at her, his eyebrows raised in a bit of a question with his hand tucked behind his back. He quickly glanced at Mila, his brown eyes twinkling. Atayav's brow wrinkled.

"Uh oh," Mila whispered to the child, catching on. "What's he got?"

The faint smile on Poe's face grew to a grin as he brought his hand out and opened it in front of the girl, revealing the piece of coveted shuura fruit candy he'd hidden. As quickly as a snake striking its prey, Atayav snatched it away and popped it into her mouth, her eyes shining and her little body bobbing happily. Poe and Mila both laughed.

"Don't blame you, sweetheart," Poe tapped the top of her nose. "Good stuff, isn't it?"

Atayav chortled. Suddenly her head snapped up, and she peered over towards the other side of the fire. Rushing to her feet, she scampered across the sand towards a beaming Kit, who dropped to his knees and scooped her up into his arms as soon as she came to him. She pressed her forehead to his – the same way Mila had seen one of the other children do with Poe a few hours earlier – and grinned away as he took her to visit the other Rapiers and Echo, who were every bit as excited to see her as she was to see them.

"She's got all of you wrapped around her little finger," Mila mused softly as she looked on, her lips parting into a gentle smile as she laid her head on his shoulder.

The Rapier nodded. "Didn't take much," he admitted. "But—"

"Commander!" Tover called as he hurried over. A worried frown warped his face. Mila and Poe both sat up.

"You good, Echo One?"

Tover locked up a bit. "Well… base has picked up something on their scanners. They… don't know what it is."

Poe's brow furrowed. "How big is it?"

"Pretty big."

"And how fast is it moving?"

Tover tensed. "It's… quick."

Poe stared at him for a second as the information sunk in. "You did well coming to get me, Lieutenant," he said solemnly, pulling himself to his feet and turning to help Mila up. "This… that doesn't—"

Mila's stomach dropped to her toes. "Poe, you don't think—"

"No," Poe reassured, quickly enough to shove the thought from his own mind. "No, no, no, no. That's the last thing you have to worry about. They have no idea we're out here."

_Do they?_

"You two stay as long as you like. I'll meet you back at base—"

"I'll be coming back with you, Commander," Tover resolved. "So I can tell them—" he motioned towards the rest of his squad "—what's what."

Poe nodded. "Go ahead and fire up one of those smaller transports. I'll be right behind you."

Tover nodded and jogged off through the sand. Mila blew out a deep, long sigh.

"Nobody knows we're out here," he said, as much to soothe himself as to soothe her. " _Nobody_. We'll be fine. Don't worry." His face softened as he bent and kissed her forehead. "I'll see you back at base."

He squeezed the top of her arm affectionately before catching up to Tover. Mila heard footsteps behind her as she watched him go, but she couldn't take her eyes off of Poe long enough to see who was behind her. He glanced over his shoulder long enough to shoot her a reassuring smile before disappearing to the edge of the village. Mila sighed.

"A look like that from a man like him," Yiema's deep voice drifted to Mila's ear. The Rattataki woman smiled radiantly. "That only comes but once in a lifetime."

Mila blushed up to her ears despite herself. Yiema chuckled.

"It explains why he spoke of you so often," she pondered, coming to stand on Mila's right. "You care for him. And he cares for you."

For a moment the two stood in silence, watching Poe's silhouette fade into the last bit of sunlight that clung to the mountaintops.

"I do not know what weight it holds for your people," Yiema finally spoke. "But for mine, that is a special bond. Sacred, even. One only breakable by death, and to the death we protect it. So tell me, healer." She turned to face Mila and looked the medic in the eye, her voice dropping seriously. "Would you die for him?"

A bit taken aback, Mila felt her brow furrowing. "Of course I would, Yiema," she replied, the words tumbling out of her mouth without her thinking twice about them. "I love—"

That was it.

 _That_  was what she had been searching for to describe him, to describe  _them_ , what she had been so desperately trying to tell him for so long. The one word that, up until now – even now, if she were wholly honest with herself – completely terrified her at first. But as they finally eased out of her mouth, she smiled brilliantly.

"I love him."

"And he knows this," Yiema questioned, "because you have told him yourself, no?"

Mila's hazel eyes darted. "I…" she stammered. "Yiema, I only just…." Her voice trailed nervously.

"If it is that important, then it must not wait," Yiema said simply, laying a large hand on Mila's shoulder. "Tell him before the sun sets. For when it rises again, he may not be there to hear you. Even if you were not both warriors, it would still be true."

The compassionate gravity in Yiema's voice – her words within themselves – struck Mila to the core.

"Go," Yiema gently instructed.

Poe's shadow grew smaller as he jogged towards the landing transport, and with what he was about to go investigate—

She didn't let herself finish the thought before she took off across the village, calling his name as she sprinted to catch up with him.

Because Yiema was absolutely right.

If something  _did_  happen – Force forbid – and he somehow went on to the Netherworld without her telling him, Mila would never forgive herself.

* * *

"See, it was moving rather quickly when I commed Lieutenant Solusar." The nervous young comms technician shifted uneasily in her chair. "But now it's just… sitting there. And getting steadily bigger."

With a furrowed brow, Poe leaned over to get a better look at the information the scanner was giving them, squinting into the fluorescent blue light that, other than a little bit from the moon outside, was the only illumination in the room. He recoiled a bit in confusion.

"Weird, right?" Tover said, leaning on the heels of his hands as he peered at the console.

Poe nodded. "What the hell," he whispered.

A worried frown warped Tover's face. "Should I call Echo back, sir?"

"You do whatever you think is best for your squadron, Tover," Poe answered. "Completely your call."

Tover nodded, raising his comm to his lips and patching himself through to Echo Squadron as he left the room.

"Should we be concerned, Commander?" the tech asked.

Still transfixed on the anomaly in front of him, Poe didn't answer. The tech tried again. "Sir?"

"I wouldn't bust a circuit  _just_  yet," he replied after a thoughtful pause. "I mean, we can't really get a read on it, and you're not picking up any individual signals from any kind of spacecraft, are you?"

The tech shook her head. "No, sir."

"Good to hear." He turned over his shoulder to Mila, who had been watching them from the back of the room. "So it can't be what I think we both thought it was," he cleared up, the relief evident in his voice. "At least, now the chances of it being…  _that_ … are a whole lot smaller." He managed a smile. "You can breathe easy now, doc."

Mila sighed, nodding a little bit.

"So it's a false alarm, then?" the tech inquired, fingers poised to jettison whatever Rapier Leader was about to say to the rest of the base.

"I'd keep an eye on it," Poe instructed, "but I don't think it's anything to be worried about."

 _They don't know we're here_ , he told himself for the thousandth time as he gave the tech a few final orders, as he commed the remainder of Rapier Squadron and ordered them back to base, as he took Mila's hand and left for the officer's quarters.  _They don't know we're here. They don't. No one does._

 _We're gonna be fine_.

* * *

If anyone could distract her from the anxiety that gnawed at the back of her mind, it was Poe.

After he'd invited her back to his quarters just so she'd know where they were, he'd taken her up to the roof via a trap door in his ceiling to stargaze and catch up. Now that she had him all to herself – that she was laughing face to face with him again – anything and everything related to their sudden return to base had effectively been chased away.

Poe had reclined in her arms, his head in her lap as he pointed out every last star system he could think of, several of which he had been to. Happily she listened to his stories, absent-mindedly running her fingers through his hair as she watched the sky.

"Where did you say Hoth was again?"

Poe smiled. "It's kind of out in front of you right now," he replied. "That really bright one. See it?"

Mila nodded. "It's kind of big."

"It's not too far away." Poe went on, taking her little hand in his. "But it sure felt like it sometimes."

He planted a lingering kiss across the tops of her knuckles. Mila beamed.

"You don't have that problem anymore," she murmured, her heart fluttering as he slowly smiled up at her. She pushed a stray piece of tousled dark hair out of his face, kissed his forehead and leaned back against the wall behind her, her tired eyes drooping shut for a moment.

"Huh," Poe broke the silence. "I wonder what  _that_  one is?"

Mila sat back up. "What one?"

He pointed into the sky, this time almost directly over his head. "Big, white, really,  _really_  bright. You can't miss it. It's  _huge._ "

Mila's brow furrowed. "I… don't see it. Where?"

"Massive. Round.  _Right_  over your head. The really,  _really_  big one—"

"That's the moon, laser brain," Mila laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

Poe cheekily grinned up at her. "Beats the hell out of me," he joked, the smile on his face widening the harder Mila giggled. Stretching a bit, he sat up, got on his feet and offered Mila his hand. "C'mere," he said. "Check this out."

He led her out to the very edge of the roof, and the entire base sprawled out in front of them.

"Kinda reminds me of our perch back home," he reminisced, wrapping his arm snuggly around her shoulders. "Just… you can see a lot more."

Mila could only manage a stunned nod. She leaned into his arms, looking out across the flight line to where they were reunited. It still felt like a dream, almost like she had cheated some sort of locked system to get him back so quickly. But now that she did have him….

Yiema's words reappeared in her head. She hadn't quite met the Rattataki's quota – the sun had sunk low behind the mountains on the way back to base – but she was close enough, and now was as good a time as ever.

"There's so much I want to tell you, Poe," she started, her heart racing. "I just… I have no idea where to start."

As she spoke, Poe pulled her closer, and she finally worked up the courage to lift her head from his shoulder and look him in the eyes. She ran the tips of her fingers down his jawline.

"I've missed you," she went on, losing herself in his eyes as she stepped closer. "So much, and now that…." Her voice trailed off as a coy smile slipped across her face. "Now that you're here, I—"

He cut her off with a long, hard kiss, one that wrapped everything she was trying to tell him into one strong, passionate message, one that made her breath short and her knees go weak. Her fingers tangled into his hair as she drew herself closer – planting a few quick kisses on his jaw before meeting his lips again – and she was suddenly aware of his hands caressing her sides, of her back gently pressing against the wall behind her, of his lips slowly wandering down her neck as chills shot down her spine. Of just how _close_  he was to her.

And yet, compared to where she found herself wanting him, he still felt like he stood a mile away.

She could ask him to go further – a lot of her wondered what would happen if she did – but was she  _really_  ready to do that? After all, she'd never let  _anyone_  go that far. She was so afraid she'd regret giving that gift up too soon and to the wrong guy that she'd just felt it safer to hang onto it, but what if the time was now?

Or what if she was comfortable, happy,  _safe_  right where they were?

She tightened her grip and buried her face into his shoulder, sighing contentedly as her fingertips massaged his scalp.

Here was good. Here  _felt_ good. And between the incredible star-sprayed sky and warmth of his body next to hers, of how every pass of his lips reminded her that he was  _finally_  with her again,  _here_  was a place she never wanted to leave. She closed her eyes as a smile quivered across her face, leaning into his touch like it was the only she'd ever wanted to do.

So when his head jerked back like her skin had badly burned him, she found herself a little frustrated. "Baby, don't stop," she moaned. "It's okay."

She pulled back to look at him, but Poe's eyes were no longer on her.

They were glued to the sky. And wide with fear.

"Baby?" Mila whispered, her brow furrowed concernedly. "What's wrong?"

"I thought I heard something," Poe breathed, his body as rigid as stone. He forced it back down with a heavy sigh, his face gentling again as he rested his forehead on hers. "My ears must've tricked me."

He softly brought his lips back to hers, and she could feel him smiling as he kissed her. Running her fingers through his hair as they both sank back into the moment, Mila felt nothing could possibly take either of them back out of it again—

—until an unfamiliar engine groaned in the distance. They both jerked back at the same time.

"I heard it too," Mila quaked.

Two seconds drew themselves out like long, worried hours as the menacing, far-off growl crescendoed into a howl sent straight out of Mila's worst nightmare.

TIE fighters.

Poe hardly had time to grab her before the first of their bombs fell.


	28. Blothan Wersoo

_Chapter 28: Blothan Wersoo_

Falling. The heat of the flames at his back. His side crashing into the ground. The deafening explosion that left his ears ringing for several disorienting seconds before BB-8's terrified wail brought him back to reality. Sharp panic surged through his veins, spurring his legs to move and his eyes to open as he dove across the room and snatched up his helmet, his flight boots, his blaster. His eyes caught Mila – thank the Force she was unhurt – rolling and bolting to her feet, scrambling to his side as the impact of another First Order strafing run nearly knocked her to the ground.

Soot and dirt leaked out of a crack in the ceiling. Flames licked at the opening. Through the hole Poe spotted the silhouettes of three Special Forces TIEs – hot off the assembly line, he deduced from the shine on their sides – jettisoning across the sky, flanking a burly TIE bomber as it dropped its payload over Republic Command Headquarters, the bursts of fire blending with the smoke and light that now consumed half the base.

All of a sudden, silence. Then a voice through his comm:

"…targeted the village… Stormtroopers everywhere… we're surrounded… requesting  _immediate_  air support—"

The words flipped a switch in his brain, and his training suddenly overrode everything – fear, panic, disorientation – he wanted to feel. His jaw nearly hardened to stone as he yanked on his flight suit, as Mila handed him his life support vest, shouldered her own blaster rifle and barked hoarsely into her comlink. Hastily she checked her belt for everything she needed, the same steely fog enveloping her that wrapped so thickly around Poe. Like armor it encased them both.

Mental fortitude, in moments like this, was everything. Those who panicked – or gave themselves time to panic – died.

Poe's fist slammed into the door panel. Smoke and screams wafted through the threshold as he stepped out. Lights flickered over his head. Alarms blared in his ears so loudly they drowned out all thought. People ran in all directions, whether towards or away from the fight, he didn't know.

Nor, in that moment, did he care.

All that mattered was which direction he was going, and whether or not his squad was still alive to follow him in.

He thought he heard Mila call his name, a stream of warmth cutting through the chill of the nightmare that pooled in around him. She reached for his hand – maybe he had forgotten something – determined and terrified and imploring all at once. He turned.

Her lips met his – a desperate last collision. And three words – a whisper that that despite the chaos, the noise, brought the entire world entirely to a quiet stop:

"I love you."

A bright smile cracked through his concentrated scowl. Poe took her face in his hands.

"I love you, too."

He pressed his forehead to hers, the encouraging words that tumbled from his lips muffled by the pounding of his heart, but though he couldn't hear himself – or, at the moment, anyone around him – he didn't need to. Mila's hand tightened around his, cradling it against her cheek as she squeezed her eyes shut. She nodded.

She had heard him. That was what mattered.

Engines roared overhead. A few members of Echo Squadron sprinted past him. Reality began to rush back in.

Mila kissed the inside of his hand. "Go," she urged.

He stood for a brief moment, watching her not only run towards the fray, but lead – even beckon – others towards it. And in that moment, he couldn't have been more proud to call her his.

Another step. Another deep breath. The explosions, the people, the smoke and the screams, it all rolled past him in slow motion as his focus tunneled. As the hallways streamed past him. As the thick screen of smoke and fire deterrent faded into the openness of night. As he sprinted towards his fighter.

As the remainder of Rapier Squadron charged out behind him, themselves dropping into the same fixated, automatic stupor their leader was already engulfed in. Hands grasped ladder rungs; quad engines roared to life; canopies came down and astromechs lifted into place. Poe's fingers coiled around the stick.

"Rapier Squadron, Echo Squadron, this is Rapier Leader." Even he was surprised at the steadiness of his voice. "All wings, report in."

His fighter began to lift from the permacrete, Rapier Two on his port and Rapier Three on his starboard, Rapier Four and Rapier Five not far behind them. Solemnly, solidly, they reported in, almost as if they couldn't see the walls of fire growing around them. As if they couldn't hear the TIEs howling overhead, just waiting to get a piece of them.

As if the B-wing and Y-wing that didn't make if off the ground didn't exist.

If they were scared at all, they hid it well.

Echo – what was left of them – did not.

"We're  _engaging_  them, Commander?" Calo's voice shook violently, though he fought to mask it. "We—we… we've never—"

"We don't have a choice, Echo Six," Poe replied, his dark eyes glancing through the top of the canopy, sizing up the enemy in his mind. "We're all that's between them and everybody behind us."

Calo's breath paled, and Poe could just see the look on his face. He could picture them all. Eyes wide, lips pursed, hands shaking. Tears, even, depending on the person. As the sky opened up and the enemy rushed in.

Just as he had envisioned Korne and Tendora, Colsan, Reaves, and Ordona. Palvo and Cage. As he  _still_  could see them, fresh in his memory as the TIEs swept in, as the sniper emerged, as the detonator went off.

The focused stare evolved to an angry one. A protective one.

He wouldn't let another one of the men under his command fall if it killed him.

Though it was Kit's voice, not his, that sounded the rally cry:

"Everybody stay together," he said. "You're family. You stay with a Rapier, and we  _will_  get you home."

Despite himself, Poe smiled. His fighter trembled as the s-foils settled into attack position and accelerated, the others – seasoned veteran and green pilot alike – following suit. He locked onto the swarm of SF TIEs that now ran at them, the engine noise soon howling over his own.

"If any of us try to draw them off," Kit went on, mirroring his sentiments exactly. "Don't follow."

* * *

Every breath, every step, every heartbeat slammed percussively in Mila's ears as she pelted towards a troop transport, as she leapt in while it rose. Her eyes stung; though she tried to hide it, her hand shook as it gripped for the handholds over her head.

Every chance she got, Mila watched the sky. She had seen them take off, shooting out of the cloud of sand, dust, and debris that shrouded the flight line like bolts from an ion cannon. Only twelve out of seventeen fighters remained; though all of Rapier Squadron was untouched, Echo's pilots began to drop like flies the second they were airborne. Two didn't even make it off the ground before the TIE bombers blew them to the Netherworld.

Still, she counted three A-wings. One black X-wing. Both Calo and Poe still lived, still flew, still fought.

For now.

Mila peered out the transport's side. The base, now miles behind them, glowed like an ember on the horizon. Large Republic transports – reduced to dots in the sky by the distance – made a mad dash for open space, all filled to the brim with those that couldn't fight: social workers, emissaries, comms personnel. Every one of them targeted.

Every one of them dropping to the ground, smoke chasing their fiery descent like the tails of a comet.

The TIEs closed in. Blasts from the transport's ventral cannons shook the already vibrating floor. Mila hardly heard the pilot order them all to hold onto something before the transport banked in evasive action, desperately trying to shake them.

Finally one was hit. Another instantly took its place and opened fire.

But unlike his counterpart, he didn't miss.

Mila's stomach rose to her mouth as they plummeted. Flames engulfed the back of the transport just as the medic dove out and rolled onto the sand. Wide eyes returned to the sky.

The TIE was coming back around.

Flashes of sinister green light pounded smoldering holes into sand around her. She fought for her breath, fought to stand and run on wobbling legs, only to be shoved back down by the force of the explosion behind her. Through the daze of the impact a coughing Mila looked ahead, and her heart stopped.

Heavily armored First Order transports dropped from the sky, heavy black shadows against the now blazing Rattataki village.

Of which thousands of innocents – and Jaren's Pathfinders – were trapped within.

Without a second thought, she took off towards it.

"Lieutenant!" someone barked. "Lieutenant Criss!"

Though Darren's voice all but begged her to stop, Mila kept running. "On me!" she ordered, realizing most of her platoon was with him. "All of you! Now! They're running out of time!"

Without so much as looking behind her she plowed forward. Smoke choked at her lungs, stung at her eyes. Flames roared from the buildings around her. Mila desperately tried to ignore the scent of what they consumed, what the hoarse screams from within the engulfed walls meant.

Who the radioed voices – unintelligible yet chilling as they crackled from behind a wall beside her – belonged to.

Ships – TIEs and bombers by their sound – circled low overhead, massive birds of prey waiting to get their piece of the spoils. Through the screen of smoke and sand that flew up in the chaos, Mila spotted the occasional white glint of a helmet or pulse of blasterfire. All of it threatened to wrench a scream from her throat, though it couldn't claw over the thick, steely wall years of military training had erected.

Every step brought her and those behind her closer to their target. And with every step – whether she would admit it or not – those walls trembled, thread-thin cracks zigzagging up their sides as the earthquake within began to shake.

Despite it, she ran on, her platoon fanning out behind her in search of any wounded. The closer she got to the cave, the more steadily the flying sand lifted, the smoke cleared.

As soon as it did, she wished it hadn't.

What was left of the Pathfinders had been cut down to a handful of men and women. Most that still lived and could still get away retreated into the desert; those that were trapped but still breathing desperately fought for their lives without a Stormtrooper in sight.

The Rattataki had nearly slaughtered them all. And they – for reasons Mila struggled to list – were hell bent on finishing the job. Why had they—

Suddenly it hit her, and she nearly collapsed.

" _Rumor has it Command wants to test some newer-model transports with the next wave, so if you see anything in the air you don't recognize, don't worry. It's probably us…"_

Her own words.

The Rattataki honestly believed, because of her, that the New Republic had laid a trap to wipe them from the frame of galactic existence. The carnage in front of her, she thought, would not be happening had she just kept her mouth shut.

Blood's metallic scent sticking up her nose, Mila froze dead for just long enough to see her brother slammed to the ground, coughing and squirming as a particularly large Rattataki man pinned him down and moved to rip his head from his shoulders.

For the first time outside of a targeting range, Mila raised her blaster rifle, aimed with shaking hands, and fired.

Jaren's assailant – now with a smoldering hole through his head – instantly rolled limp to the side.

Tazeo.

A frenzied Jaren – who had just nearly been gutted by a dear friend – scrambled to his feet, nodded a breathless thank you and rushed to help Skid, who had been trapped against the cave wall by Xoreg. Bile churned in Mila's stomach as she watched them, took a step to follow him.

But before she could, she was tackled to the ground, a piercing, hoarse battle cry ringing her ears as the wind battered from her lungs.

As Yiema – whose glower burned a hole straight through Mila's already unsound walls – pressed a scimitar to her throat. Any movement Mila made sank it closer to her windpipe.

"Traitor," she growled, leaning forward and glowering at a struggling Mila as she pushed the blade far enough into her skin to draw blood. "Your people swore an oath, healer. An oath of  _loyalty_." She pointed to a nearby Stormtrooper. "But send your own to  _murder_  us."

Mila shook her head. "They..." she rasped under the scimitar, her voice pale. "Those aren't  _ours_ , Yiema. Listen to me. They're killing  _us_ , too—"

"Enough!" Yiema roared through tears, decking Mila in the face so hard the medic's vision momentarily blurred. "Rattatak  _demands_  restitution for your crime. This blood war you have started? Your people will not win. Your friends in white  _will not_  win. And you?"

The Rattataki leaned even farther forward, a chilling, bloodthirsty smile pealing across her bruised face. Mila's eyes bugged.

"Your carved body will be my greatest trophy."

Yiema raised the scimitar, and Mila looked to the sky, searching for one last glance at a black X-wing – whispering a desperate, heartbroken apology when she found it – and braced for the worst. The image of Yiema's near vengeance sank into Mila's brain, slipped through the cracks in her walls and burned behind tightly shut eyes in such detail that there was no point in closing them.

She felt Yiema swing to land the blow, but the sting of the metal never came.

An arm wrapped around Yiema's shoulders and tore her screaming from her kill , and a blaster butt to the face disoriented Yiema's counterattack enough to let her captor – a chrome-armored, black-caped Stormtrooper nearly as tall as she was – drag her away, a fierce warrior reduced to a limp, wounded deer. Though dazed, Yiema still bellowed the same wail as the others.

A lone promise for revenge:

" _Blothan Wersoo!_ "

Panic boiled inside of Mila as she tried to stand, as a strong pair of arms nearly suffocated her from behind as their owner hauled her down behind a rock.

The quake inside – no matter how she fought it, tried to ignore it – worsened. She struggled and squirmed to wriggle free, but whoever had come behind her had the strength to hold her to him still.

"Mila!" his voice, though he'd been calling her since the second he grabbed her, finally found its way to her head. "Mila, it's okay! It's me."

Jaren.

"You," she breathed. "It's—"

His death grip relaxed into a firm embrace when she turned around to face him – as she threw her arms around his neck in relief. He pulled back and gripped her shoulders.

"We have to get back to base," he shouted over the chaos. "First Order's dragged us out, Mil."

She stared at him blankly for a moment. "What?"

"They lured us out, Mila. They're going at the base hard. Few thousand—a few thousand are trapped inside. It's a slaughter—"

"And this  _isn't?!_ " Mila retorted. "Sundar  _ordered_  us here—"

"And now he's ordering you  _back!_  You've  _all_  been ordered back! Even air support!" The Pathfinder face fell, and the despair in his eyes would haunt Mila for the rest of her life. "Xoreg's the  _bait—"_

First Order troops suddenly poured into the throng, shooting Pathfinder and Rattataki who resisted alike as they beat the villagers back deep into the cave. Mila tried to lunge forward, but her quick-thinking brother held her back.

"No!" he cried. "Mila, stop and listen!"

He held his comm up to her ear and proved himself right. Mila swallowed hard.

"Bucketheads are preoccupied," Jaren hurriedly went on. "You go hard  _now_  – get on that comm and tell your guys and gals to do the same – and they shouldn't see you."

Mila blinked. "What about you?"

"There's a downed TIE less than a quarter standard mile from here, and we've got Calo to thank for it. If I can get my men over there, and we can take something from it back home when we go—"

"Are you  _insane?_ " Mila protested. "They'll see you!"

"Mila—"

Sudden, static silence – a chill, unsettling still – cut him off more effectively than Mila ever could. The two siblings exchanged glances.

Jaren's brow furrowed. "What the hell? Where did they go?"

Everyone – the Rattataki, the Stormtroopers, the New Republic forces that had not already retreated – had disappeared. The only sound to be heard came from the TIE bomber and its escort that rushed overhead.

Soon the Stormtroopers poured out from the cave, but they weren't followed. A deep pounding – the final heartbeats – thumped from within the cave.

The bomber dropped altitude, slowed, and started its approach. One of Echo's X-wings swooped in behind it, but was quickly disposed of. The howl of the TIE's engines shook the ground as it passed over, so much so that Mila and Jaren both covered their ears.

Proton bombs glowed from the TIE's ventral side, at the same instant movement sprouted from the mouth of the cave.

A little girl – a dirty sling wrapped around one shoulder – stared blankly, forlornly, confusedly back at them. Took a few steps towards them.

Then the bombs dropped, the ground shuddered, the flames rushed from the mouth of the cave, nipping at Mila and Jaren's heals as the impact sent them flying backwards, as they slammed into the distant ground, ears ringing, bodies bruised, heads swimming.

A black X-wing's angry shriek tore through the night and thundered into the bomber, sending it straight to the inferno it had just created, the escort soon plummeting behind it.

Poetic, Mila thought bitterly.

Though the ring crescendoed and her hearing muffled, though her breath grew more labored and her vision spotted black and purple as unconsciousness claimed her, all Mila could see – in perfect detail – was that little girl in the sling.

The flames that vaporized her people.

Then it faded to black, and all went still.


	29. Field Promotion

_Chapter 29: Field Promotion_

" _Mila!_ "

The medic's unopened eyes rolled as she fought to wake up. Her brow wrinkled; a hoarse moan escaped her parched lips as she took a deep, shaky breath.

Like rushing water reality – the distant roar of flames, the grimy stench of smoke, the prickle of the sand on her skin – poured back into focus. One blackened eye cracked open as her brother gave her a hard shake, desperately calling her name:

"Mila!"

"Relax, nerfherder," she rasped with a smirk, grabbing the front of his fatigues and hoisting herself to a sitting position. She coughed. "Just resting my eyes."

Relief washed over Jaren's panicked face. He started to chuckle, as did those around him. "If you weren't my sister," he breathed, pulling her towards him for a hug, "I'd knock you out." His grip tightened, and his voice cracked. "You scared the kriff out of me, Mila—"

"You honestly thought we'd part ways without saying goodbye?" She pulled back and put her little hands on his broad shoulders, her face softening a bit as she noticed the unreleased tears in his eyes. "Nah. That'd just be rude."

"Damn you," Jaren laughed, quickly leaning in and kissing her forehead. He stood and pulled her to her feet. "C'mon. We all got somewhere to be and not a lot of time to get there."

Mila's wobbly legs buckled a bit as they came to terms with what she was asking them to do, but a few deep breaths of relatively fresh night air and a long drink from Jaren's canteen convinced them and the rest of her body to heed her command. Between greedy gulps of water she picked out something about a transport from base coming to get them – if it could stay in one piece to do it. Letting out a heavy sigh as she wiped at the back of her mouth with her sleeve, she looked to the sky as she and the handful of men that were with her started to move forward.

"All of Rapier's still up," Jaren said at length, noting his sister's concerned, searching stare. "But Echo…" He sighed. "They've got three left."

Mila paled. "And one of them's Calo,  _right_?"

A brief smile burst across Jaren's face as he nodded. "He's fine. Taking it to them." He shook his head, pride swelling in his eyes. "Looks like he belongs up there."

Despite her growing nerves, Mila grinned. "Good," she whispered as they crested the top of a large dune and made their way downward. "You got any word on that—"

" _Incoming!_ "

For a short second Mila thought her brother referred to that transport, but the raw adrenaline in his voice – the fear and, even more apparently, stone-cold anger that flashed in his eyes – warned her otherwise. Her blaster rifle found its way to her shoulder before the registered what was going on. Troopers swarmed over the dune – which was more like one edge to a small crater that Mila and the others had walked into – and held their weapons at the ready.

All save the one giving the orders.

Mila quickly recognized her as the one who led the assault on the village, the one who had dragged Yiema to her death. The immense inferno in the distance – one Mila assumed this trooper had ordered – warmed her impeccable, chrome-painted armor to an eerie orange, almost as if the towering figure within was made of fire herself. The now soiled black cape clasped around her shoulders trailed out behind her like a long, dark plume of smoke.

Her voice, in stark contrast to her scorching appearance, was cold as stone:

"On my mark."

Mila's eyes bugged. They weren't walking away from this.

"Gentlemen," she started, forced evenness that only despair can bring smoothing her voice. "Ladies. It's been an honor—"

"Take aim."

Jaren's hand quickly clasped hers. "It's okay," she heard him whisper.

White fingers flexed around triggers, poised to fire. A shriek of panic boiled up in Mila's mind, crescendoing as her anticipation grew.

Get it over with, she wanted to scream.

The ground shook; her hair and the loose leather of Poe's flight jacket – which had stowed away on her shoulders when she'd ran to her post – whipped in a sudden, hot breeze.

Then the shriek grew louder, so loud that it couldn't have been in her head, and Mila could have cried with relief.

Quad engines.

Before their captain could give them the final order, an X-wing ripped overhead, pounding ion bolts into the disgruntled troopers with a level of speed and accuracy only experience – and a lot of strafing practice – could have brought.

The captain – steely voice bellowing a curse as he rolled down the dune – was the only one who got away with her life, and she wasn't doing any damage alone.

Cheers erupted from the men who'd just been spared, and Mila watched the pilot disappear briefly into the night and double back around.

An angel on her shoulders.

If only it were possible to thank him.

* * *

The whoop through his comms nearly deafened the X-wing's pilot as he guided the fighter for another pass. His finger deftly coiled around the trigger again; his dark eyes raked the sand in front of him for any more of the enemy, but his commander's excited call gave him the answer he wanted before he even had time to look for it:

"You got 'em, Rapier Five! That was  _one hell_ of a shot!"

As he rushed back towards the other fighters – as he caught sight of the troop transport they had somehow managed to escort out there hovering below him, brown-haired medic triumphantly stumbling towards it – Kit Anderon smiled.

"What can I say, Commander?" he beamed. "I owed her one."

* * *

"What do you mean 'you're not coming with me?'" Mila angrily barked over the engine noise. "The  _hell_  you aren't, Colonel! Get up here, now!"

"We can't pass that TIE up." Eyeing his panicked sister apologetically, Jaren took a step backwards. "We get a piece of it – take it back to Command – and they might actually believe this cluster-kriff is happening. Sundar  _ordered_  you to fall back—"

Mila's eyes flashed fearfully. "Not without you—"

"You don't have a choice, Mila!"

The medic's face – which only a moment before had been smiling ear to ear – collapsed. Hopping down from the transport and taking a few pointed steps forward, she threw her arms around her big brother's neck, forcing back tears as she held him close, squeezed her eyes shut.

"You have a family that needs you," she stammered, her voice low and shaking with emotion. "Come back to us."

"I will," Jaren whispered, rubbing her back reassuringly. "I promise."

He pulled away and put his hands on her shoulders. "Go."

Reluctantly, Mila stepped back into the transport, her eyes not leaving her brother's silhouette as it rose from the ground. Even after he had disappeared into the shadowy distance and the transport neared the base – started to touch down – she watched the horizon.

 _You made me a promise, nerfherder. You'd_ better  _keep it._

* * *

Sundar's thankful call announced his presence long before Mila saw him. His blue eyes – bright and hopeful despite the circumstances – swam with relief as he ran across the bombed-out flight line to meet her and her platoon.

"Thank the Force you're not hurt," Sundar sighed, putting a hand on Mila's shoulder and leading her towards the rest of the battalion. "We're gonna need you on this one."

They were crouched around a holo projector, the soot-covered wall and nearby guard tower behind them shielding their vulnerable position from anyone who might want to exploit it. Most of the soldiers – Wex and Darren, even Krell included – held blasters to their chests, ready to run if they had to. Sundar neared the projection – of which Mila recognized as one of the mess halls nearby – and his face hardened in a way that all those present knew what he was about to say was serious.

"You all know the First Order dragged you out to the village so they could waltz in here without much of a fight," he started with a concentrated frown. "They've captured almost the entire base. Most of it's a lost cause,  _except_  for this building."

He clenched his jaw in an effort to steady himself. In the past several years she had known him, Mila wasn't sure she had ever seen him do that before.

"Some First Order security psycho and his special weapons detachment have trapped about four hundred lieutenants in that mess hall," he went on gravely. "Could be more or less than that. We don't have an exact number. All we know is that almost all of them are either comms or brand-new Senate Intelligence officers. And that this… agent – whoever the hell he is – is holding them for a reason."

"How'd you get a hold of this?" Mila asked.

"One of the kids commed it in," Sundar replied, his face falling slightly. "She didn't last. But the others can and  _will_  if we can get to them in time. We're gonna have to move fast and carefully; Force knows what's between us and them right now, and I  _really_  don't want to lose any more of you than I already have—"

"Then – with respect, Colonel," Krell cut in coolly, trying to smother her rising fear with aloofness, "we need to retreat, if you want to keep the rest of us breathing."

Sundar glared at her. "Again, Major?"

Krell shrugged defensively. "Look, I want those captured to live just as badly as you do, but as you said, this place is a lost cause. If we run in there, I'll be cut –  _we'll_  be cut – to shreds by those special-weapons troops. And I am  _not_  keen on—"

Sundar's pointed stare intensified. "Major, when you joined this battalion – when you raised your hand and swore that oath – was there  _anything_  in there about  _you_  saving your  _own_  ass?"

Krell's icy eyes bugged. "Sir, I meant no—"

"Simple question; even simpler answer. Yes or no."

Irked, Krell backed down. "No, sir."

Sundar nodded tersely and turned back to the others. "Now there is an entrance point just around that corner, and you should be able to get right in—"

A blaster bolt from nowhere cut him off, driving into his chest as he collapsed to the ground.

" _Colonel!_ " Mila shrieked, falling to her knees next to him and gathering him into her arms.

He gasped loudly. Haggardly. Mila was vaguely aware of those around her scrambling for cover – of Wex pointing his own rifle in the direction the bolt came from and blowing the sniper down from his well-hidden post – as she scrambled for a few supplies.

"Sir, don't—"

" _Mila_." Coughing, Sundar gripped her shoulder, his eyes locking with hers for a moment before drifting past her head. Weakly he pointed around the corner he'd just spoken of.

" _All_  of them," he managed. "Get—"

He choked. Mila's brow furrowed as tears flooded her vision.

"Colonel?"

No response. Mila shook him hard.

" _Colonel!_ "

When she looked at him again, his eyes had glassed over. Squeezing her own shut as she bowed her head and brushed her hand over his eyelids, Mila stifled sobs that threatened to wrench from her body as his stiffened in her arms. From over her shoulder Krell bent and fumbled for the officer's pin on Sundar's collar – replacing her own with his without a second thought as she promoted herself to his former rank– and straightened.

"Order suspended," she said, almost as if nothing was wrong. "Someone call a transport—"

Mila didn't have to hear the rest of what Krell said to know what she was getting at. Tears ran down her scowling face as she sat up. Looked down the corridor towards the mess hall. Stood.

Colonel Sundar had given her an order. His  _final_  order.

"You heard Sundar!" she barked, and pointed towards the massive building behind her. "We're not leaving without  _them!_ "

Krell almost scoffed. "And last  _I_  checked,  _Lieutenant_ , you cannot give  _me_  orders, and now that he—" she pointed to Sundar's lifeless body "—isn't here for you to hide behind, for you to  _whine_  to, you  _will_  obey my—"

Mila shoved past her towards the rest of the men, who were all as blindsided as she was. "All of you! With me, now! Stay tight; we're going in—"

"What the hell are you thinking, Lieutenant?!" Krell fired back. "I gave you an  _order—_ "

Mila nodded towards Sundar's body. "So did he."

"Between the two of us, who is still breathing? Who commands—"

Finally, Mila had had enough.

"Caraya's soul, Almira!  _They're just kids, dammit!_  They go home!"

Though Krell tried to maintain an icy composure, she visibly recoiled. Mila stepped up.

"They. Go. Home."

" _Lieu—_ "

"He said everybody, people!" Mila went on, moving across rubble and picking up her pace. "And we're gonna carry that out if it kriffing  _kills_ us!"

Without another word, she took off down the street, the others quickly filing in behind her, Krell's furious protest fading under the pounding of her boots into the ground, the hammer of her heart in her ears. She made it to the door and shot the control panel, and the heavy barrier slid to the side like a massive, durasteel tombstone.

Mila's jaw hardened.

"Let's go to work."

* * *

Being concise – being prompt and efficient – had been drilled into Terex since his days in the Empire. In fact, he had garnered a bit of a reputation for being just that, one that he did not seek to tarnish. Though many within the First Order disagreed with his… methods… no one had ever said that he had never gotten the desired results, and no one had ever tell him he had failed.

Now that he ran the risk of hearing that dreaded word, Terex was growing a bit… impatient.

"Bloody hell, Sergeant," he growled, his voice practically tapping its foot. "There are four hundred and eighty of them. You mean to tell me that out of four hundred and eighty prisoners, not  _one_  of them has given you anything I asked for?"

The Flametrooper stiffened. "No, sir."

Terex sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fabulous," he muttered flippantly.

He turned to the rest of the room – crammed with baby-faced New Republic lieutenants all scared witless – and raised his voice:

"Now, my friends," he projected, a falsely pleasant smile slithering out from under his pointed black mustache. "Don't be shy. One of you  _must_  know  _something_."

No one spoke. Terex raised his tattooed right eyebrow.

"But just in case any of you  _didn't_  hear me the first time, all I have asked for is information. Not weapons; not prisoners of war. Merely words. A few short answers to a few short questions."

His heavy black boots thumping across split tile and crunching over broken glass – along with a few frightened sobs from farther in the room – were the only noises to be heard.

"I want to know why your superiors sent you here. I want to know what your purpose is. The First Order wants to know what your purpose is. And one of you will be  _so_  kind as to  _tell_  me.  _Promptly_."

The lieutenants – though most of them were visibly shaking – exchanged glances amongst themselves, but still no one would betray the New Republic.

"Fine," Terex huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose like an annoyed parent. "You have wasted my patience." He quickly turned to his troops – which stood around the massive room's walls, all wielding flamethrowers – and all cordial pretenses dropped from his face, a curtain falling to reveal the impatient animal underneath. "Ready!"

The troops raised their weapons. Several lieutenants screamed. Terex – he couldn't help himself – grinned.

"Aim!"

The troopers complied.

But before he could give the next command – his  _favorite_  order – the locked blast doors blew open, and he was tackled to the ground.

* * *

The second she had broken through the smoke, Mila had spotted the agent Sundar mentioned and ran at him. She'd taken him down fast enough to slow whatever order he was about to give, but that didn't stop one or two of his most hardened troops from firing anyway.

"Get them out!" Mila screamed over her shoulder to those that came in with her. "Now!"

She ran to follow her own order – came within two feet of a girl whose feet had been caught in the blaze – when she was all but thrown into the floor. The agent lunged at her, but she rolled out of the way, stood and slammed her fist between his eyes. He stumbled backwards. Growing steadily angrier, Mila rammed her knee into his stomach – threw several good punches into the side of his face – before he rebounded, clawed at her neck, and pinned her to the ground.

Before she could do anything about it, his thumbs were crushing her windpipe.

The sick pleasure he seemed to draw from her struggling, the venomous simper that eased across his face. They together shook the foundations of Mila's already battered walls so hard that they finally collapsed. Every last detail of her situation – the smoke, the screams for help and cries of pain, several of her own men meeting their demise upon entering the room and, especially, the sick face of the man attempting to take her life – seared onto her brain like a brand on the back of an eopie. A permanent, painful scar. Hundreds of them, rolling one on top of the other like waves in a violent storm.

Mila desperately grabbed at his wrist, kicking out and slapping at his hand in an attempt to wriggle free, but he was too strong.

"Ah, ah," he sneered. "The harder you fight, my dear, the longer it will last."

He tightened his grip. Mila's vision blurred as she frantically looked for an escape.

After what seemed like hours, she zeroed in on the tactical knife on his belt, drew it, and sliced at his left eye. He screamed, fumbling at his bleeding face as two of his troops began to drag him away from the fight.

Deep, hoarse breaths replenished Mila's lungs, though every movement of her neck  _hurt_.

She could hear the agent taunting her – various curses and less-than-courteous turns of phrase howling across the room – as she rolled onto her stomach and coughed.

Shaking arms pushed her back to a standing position and, though still dazed, she ran for the first wounded soldier - a girl no older than Calo – she could find. Quickly she smacked out the flames, reached for sedative, and stuck the needle into the lieutenant's leg before hoisting her small body onto her shoulders and pelting for the door.

"You're gonna be okay," she rasped, forcing her voice out through damaged vocal cords as she came through the threshold, down the hallway, and out into the open air where, to her relief, most of the lieutenants – the vast majority of which were unhurt – piled into troop transports that she assumed Sundar had called in.

"Lieutenant!" Darren called, holding his arms out to take the wounded girl. "I've got her—"

"Put her on one of those transports and follow me back in," Mila ordered hoarsely. "There are still more in there!"

* * *

By the time it was over – by the time the room was cleared, the transports were loaded – Mila had run in seven times, and every time she left with someone, dead or alive, it didn't matter.

Sundar had said everybody. Whether or not they were still breathing hardly mattered. They were all going home.

Including the person – the man who Mila had considered her second father – who gave the order in the first place.

Ducking around the corner, Mila picked his body up – to her absolute disgust Krell had left it there to rot and, to her absolute shock, she found his heart was still beating – and sprinted back to the transports, yelling for a hovercot as she did. Slowly she lowered his broken body onto the cot as the medical droid next to her displayed his pulse. The cardiograms's bright white light hopped weakly in time with his heartbeat.

 _Thump, thump_.  _Thump, thump_.

Every time that line jumped, there was hope that he would survive. She moved to the head of the cot to wheel him out.

But the second she did, he slipped away.

She hadn't been fast enough.

Tears nearly blinding her, she bent forward and kissed his forehead, the only apology she could manage.

Darren and Wex, both as shaken as she was, wheeled him onto one of the last transports. Painful sobs choked her as she watched them. From another transport – the only remaining that was still relatively empty – Krell stormed over to her. The ice in her stare could have frozen one of Mustafar's molten rivers solid.

"If you  _don't_  think you will be hearing about this upon our return to Hosnian Prime, Lieutenant, you are  _hideously_  mistaken. I told you to  _retreat_ —"

"He said  _everybody_."

Seeing as Mila was unmoving in her decision – that she wasn't even the slightest bit guilty – Krell bristled and fumbled for words, flustered.

"You  _deliberately_  disobeyed me. And I will  _not…_ "

Her voice trailed, and as its sound faded, the howls of the TIE fighters crescendoed overhead.

But the Rapiers – and one lone A-wing – were right behind them.

* * *

"You've got one on your tail, Rapier Two!"

Karé grunted. "Yeah, figured that one out."

She banked hard to port, but the TIE all but predicted her move. She winced.

"Could use a little help, guys! I can't shake him!"

Kit swooped in behind her. "I'm on him."

One pulse of ion cannon later, the TIE spun out of control, trailing smoke and fumes as it slammed into the ground and exploded.

"Thanks, buddy," Karé breathed. "Good shot."

She could all but hear the smile in Kit's voice: "No problem."

"One of the pilots of those transports just hailed me, guys," Poe came in, his voice still remarkably steady even as BB-8 lost his binary mind behind him. "They're lifting off. Watch 'em; those TIEs are gonna be coming in hot after them!"

No sooner were the words out of his mouth did a TIE fighter fall in behind the first transport to get airborne. Iolo hammered into it before it could open fire, and as the TIE exploded, the transport shot into open space.

"Heading to the rendezvous," Poe clarified. "Let them go. We'll be there soon enough."

"I count fifteen of those transports, including the one that got away and those still on the ground," Iolo reported. "All left but three just lifted off. Watch for them!"

In tandem the transports rose from the ground and raced upwards, the freedom of realspace just within their grasp—

-before a thick cloud of TIEs descended from orbit, tearing half of them to shreds and racing at the other three. Calo's eyes bugged as he watched them.

"Commander—"

"Several made it through, Calo; let them go. I need you down here—"

Calo's voice rose and shook under panic. "Holy… holy kriff. She's—"

A few of the newly-released TIEs plummeted towards the base, their guns all trained on the remaining transports and the medics that manned them.

"Guys, she's down—she's down there." His voice nearly rose to a shout as she pulled in behind the offending TIEs. "Mila!"

He opened fire and took down one of the TIEs – cringed as it missed the battered flight line by the skin of its teeth.

One dropped in behind him and opened fire. Calo panicked.

"I can't shake him! Somebody—"

Without thinking twice, Kit dove after him. "Hang on, Calo!" he shouted as he opened fire, as the TIEs in front of him were reduced to vaporizing clouds of flame. "Got 'em!" Despite himself, he actually laughed. "Take that, you—"

Several TIEs fell on him at once, and those that didn't come for him charged at the ground. All opened fire. Kit swerved and banked, even threw in a few rolls, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't shake them.

"Holy kriff! Guys—"

"Kit!" Poe called, the panic he had been stifling the entire night finally bubbling up and over. "Hang on, buddy! I'm coming! Are you hit?"

"Little cooked, but I think I'll be alright. Don't worry about me—"

He swept upwards, picking up another TIE as he went.

"Kit, watch it—"

"Worry about the transports! Calo's right!"

One more transport sped past them, up and out of Rattatak's death trap. Kit sharply cut upwards and rolled, and when he did, two of the TIEs behind him slammed into each other, blowing fire and shrapnel in every direction.

Including into one of Kit's starboard quad engines. Smoke streamed out from the side of his fighter.

Every other pilot present – it didn't matter how long they'd been in the business – felt their heart shoot to their mouths.

"Kit!" Karé cried.

"It's not bad, Karé."

"The hell it's not!" she shot back. "Get out of here before—"

"I am  _not_  leaving you!" Kit barked, the fierceness in his voice taking the others aback. "We are leaving this  _together—_ "

"Watch out behind you!"

But Karé's warning came to late.

Like a shark to blood, another TIE saw the smoke, dropped in behind Kit, and opened fire.

But unlike his counterparts, he didn't miss.

"Kit!" Karé shrieked.

He didn't answer.

" _Kit!_ "

Rapier Five spun out, slammed into the ground, and exploded.

* * *

Both frozen in place as the dogfight played out over them, Mila and Krell couldn't find any words to speak – even a sound to make – as one of the X-wings above went up in smoke several hundred feet away from them. Mila – whose head already pounded with unreleased sobs – nearly choked. The second he had been hit, all the others dove into a frenzy, and judging from Poe's fighter's reaction – she'd watch it take off after a whole pack of TIEs and blow every single one of them away – she knew whoever had just been shot down was important.

Part of her wished she wouldn't live to find out who it was.

"We need to leave," Krell finally said. "They are guarding our escape."

The remaining fighters disappeared briefly behind a thick cloud of smoke. Mila – still paralyzed by the scene – barely breathed as she watched them.

"Lieutenant—"

Another explosion erupted from behind the smoke, and judging from the sound afterwards, another X-wing had been hit. The desperate shriek of the quickly-failing engines made Mila's blood run cold.

Soon the fighter emerged from the other side of the cloud. And—

Mila clamped a shaking hand over her mouth.

It had to have been a shadow. It had to have been.

That X-wing – which was barreling towards the top of the Republic Command building about a block away – was absolutely  _not_  painted black.

She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that when she opened them again, the blue and silver paintjob would peek through the soot.

It didn't.

An orange stripe did.

Before she knew what she was doing, Mila found herself starting to run forwards, denial and shock and a fear like none she'd ever felt burning through her body like poison. Krell roughly grabbed her arm.

"You are  _not—_ "

" _Poe!_ "

Sheer adrenaline – maybe even something greater – surged through her veins as she wrenched her captive arm free. As she ran as hard as she could towards the building, which – on top of crawling with Stormtroopers – now had Poe's X-wing poking out of the third story.

" _Lieutenant_   _Criss!_ " Krell lividly shouted after her, but the call was of no use.

Mila ran as hard as she could and rounded the corner, sizing up the building in her mind. She was close enough to see him still trapped in the cockpit – wrenching with his restraints as the fighter sank farther into the now flaming building – so he, thank the Force, was still alive.

All she had to do was go get him.


	30. Praying

_Chapter 30: Praying_

He said everybody. Everyone within their power to save was to walk out of that base either alive or as close to alive as they could be, and even if they were no longer breathing, they were still going home. Those were Sundar's orders – his  _last_  orders – and Mila'd be damned if she didn't carry them out.

Technically speaking, she already had. This final run – the most important run she had ever made and, she was sure, she ever  _would_  make – had nothing to do with orders. No one had  _told_  her to go back; if anything, Krell had ordered her to retreat.

And she would.

Just not without  _him_.

Smoke choked Mila's lungs; she ran so hard that every step jolted her insides. The closer she came to the Republic Command building, the bigger it seemed to get. Three stories grew into a mountain. Flames glowed behind windows. Muffled blasterfire – smothered screams – pulsed from behind a closed durasteel door. The medic zeroed in on the control panel, raised her blaster rifle, and reduced it to sparks.

The heavy door hissed open. Smoke rolled across the ground and scattered at Mila's feet as she rushed in, wide-eyed and alone. Support beams snapped around her, their strength faltering with every second past. Power had long since gone out in the building; the only thing lighting Mila's path was the red glow of the embers above her. Metal groaned above as it weakened, the sound nearly drowning out a piercing, binary wail from above.

She needed a way up. Fast.

Squinting through the smoke that scratched at her eyes and throat, Mila finally spotted a thin, dark stairwell concealed under a black waterfall of smoke. Faltering supports creaked and snapped under her weight. Hot, dry air streamed up her nose and burned her face. The brightness of the flames temporarily whited her vision as they burst out from behind the walls and roared across the ceiling overhead.

She cleared the first landing, rounded the corner, and collided with a while-armored nightmare.

She smacked the concrete floor and scrambled as the trooper opened fire, winced as the heat of plasma singed the hair from her skin. He lunged; she rolled out of the way. Mila clawed at the next step and struggled towards higher ground, turned around, and fired, her own blaster bolt sinking into his helmet. Before she could see him fall, she had already made it to the second landing.

One more flight. Menacing orange light glowed from behind the threshold of a shot-open door; smoke rolled across the floor like a thick black carpet. Heart pounding with desperation, Mila charged into the room and winced as dry, dirty air wafted in her face and blew her collapsing hair behind her shoulders. Sweat dripped into her eyes. Every muscle in her body protested as she made her way across the fragile, burning floor.

Through the toxic black curtain that enveloped her, she finally spotted an cinder-speckled s-foil.

Poe.

Cringing as flames seared at the soles of her boots, Mila nearly dove forward and hauled herself onto the X-wing's side, her hands struggling to find a grip on the metal through the thick snow of ash that had fallen across it. BB-8, who by some miracle was still squirming in the astromech socket, shrieked as the blaze licked at the side of his dome.

"Hold on, buddy!" Mila called, finally swinging a leg over the top of the X-wing and shakily standing. "I'm coming!"

Like a loth cat on a rickety tree branch she inched towards the droid. The fighter bucked as one of its left quad engines blew. Debris and sparks sprayed in every direction; the blast knocked Mila onto her stomach. BB-8 screamed.

Gritting her teeth, Mila clawed for the astromech socket, her eyes tearing from the heat and the smoke that stung at them. Her fingers finally gripped the switch that would free BB-8, just as Poe has showed her during their final days together on Hosnian Prime. With a grunt she wrenched on it as hard as she could, relief invigorating her exhausted body as BB-8 heavily clanked into the unstable floor. He squealed at her over the flames.

"Go!" Mila ordered, hauling herself to her feet. The gaunt X-wing quivered again, but the stubborn droid didn't retreat, in fact, he rolled closer and protested loudly.

"BB-8, get out of here!" Mila barked. "Don't worry about us; we'll be fine! Go,  _now!_ "

Wailing in fear, BB-8 reluctantly rolled away and clanged down the stairs Mila had just come up. Mila stood and lunged toward the cockpit. Bile slid up her throat; tears scratched at her eyes.

She hadn't heard him when that engine blew. Smoke filled the cockpit so thickly that Mila couldn't see into it. Part of her didn't want to. He could just be unconscious; she prayed to the Force that that was the case. Most of her was convinced it would be worse than that.

He was probably dead.

But even then, he was still going home.

And she would be the one to take him.

Stifling a terrified sob, Mila raised her blaster rifle and slammed the butt into the weakened transparisteel. Smoke belched from the opening.

" _Poe!_ " she called desperately, drawing her tact knife and moving to cut her wounded pilot free. "Can you hear me?"

No answer.

Mila fumbled for the shoulder restraints and sawed through them, her shaking hands slipping on blood. Her normally steely stomach lurched.

" _Kriff_ ," she croaked.

Interstellar orange finally blinked through the smoke. Mila reached for him and, after shock temporarily ripped the strength from her body, she grabbed him under his armpits and lifted, screaming as every muscle in her body strained.

Pain seared through her arms; up her back, down her legs. Exhaustion of a sort she'd never felt pried her fingers open, weakening her grip. Weakening her resolve.

 _He's_   _dead_ , something inside her remonstrated.  _There's nothing you can do. He's—_

Suddenly Poe moaned. His head rolled on his shoulders. Tears poured down Mila's relieved face.

He was alive.

Calling on the last bit of strength she had left in her, she braced her feet against the X-wing's near molten side and gave one last yank. Poe's limp body finally fell into her arms. Loudly sighing in relief, she started to drag him towards the stairs.

The X-wing lurched. The floor groaned. Before she realized what was happening she felt herself falling, slamming through broken, burning ceilings and onto the hard, permacrete ground floor. Bruised bones bellowed their presence; burns seared across her side and her neck; blood dripped down her face from a piece of shrapnel that had found a home over her left eyebrow.

Poe's motionless body limped into her purpling vision as she tried to stand, as she stumbled towards him. The room spun violently; her knees buckled from underneath her.

The last thing she saw before it all went black was an unusual shuttle landing just outside the front door, and a masked figure – a tall, obsidian shadow flanked by high-ranking Stormtroopers – stalking down the gangplank.

* * *

"All teams," Karé's voice shook with panicked shock. "This is Rapier One." The new title stuck to her tongue like bitter medicine. "All remaining wings, report in."

Tears stung at the Rapier's dark eyes as Iolo and Muran hollowly, exhaustedly reported in. Silence claimed the crackling comm for a few heavy seconds. Karé's hands shook.

"Echo Six," a voice limped into earshot. "Standing by."

Despite herself, Karé felt a grin rip across her face. "Calo, thank the Force!" she cried. "Where are the others? I—I thought—"

"I'm the only one left."

Karé's stomach dropped to her toes. "What?"

A sob scratched at Calo's raw throat. "They… they got—" He sighed forcefully. "Tover and Varsha…. I—"

"Got incoming at point zero five!" Iolo interrupted. TIE engines now nearly deafened them all. "There going for the remaining transport. See 'em?"

Like a massive flock of black birds, at least twenty more TIEs poured from the atmosphere. Karé's jaw tightened.

"All wings," she nearly growled. "Stay tight on me. Keep those fighters  _away_  from that transport—"

"We're going  _towards_  them, Captain?" Calo quaked. "Th-there's too many—"

"We don't have a choice, Calo," Karé countered. "We can't leave till it's leaving with us, and we don't have a choice to fight our way to it."

Echo Six nearly whimpered. Karé's heart shattered.

"You gotta trust me, Six," she said, fighting to emulate the steadiness the  _real_  Rapier One was so famous for and somewhat failing. "All of you. Tight on me. We're coming in hot."

Her enraged X-wing shrieked as it charged towards the oncoming TIEs. Vengeance boiled in Karé's hardened gaze.

If she died tonight, she was going to take as many of those kriffheads with her as she damn well possibly could. Her finger pulsed over the trigger.

"This one's for you, Poe."

* * *

Adrenaline shook her locked-down body to alertness as Mila came to. Everything – her back, her head, her neck and throat, her arms and legs – throbbed. Voices swarmed her hearing, crackling in and out of comms and helmet speakers. She counted at least eight.

An entire  _squadron_.

In her addled state, there was no way she could take them alone. But why had she—

"Poe."

Where was he?

Straining through the glowing smoke that engulfed the room, Mila picked out his battered, bleeding body among the others the troopers had just gunned down. Her heart jumped into her mouth.

He'd been down and out long before they entered. Maybe… maybe they thought he as dead. Maybe they hadn't—

She got close enough to finally get a good look at him, and she could have screamed with relief. They'd left him.

The closer she got, the more she realized why. His wounds were many and grievous; if he had somehow survived the fall, it was just barely. They wouldn't waste the ammo on someone who was already on the way out.

Which meant that she didn't have a lot of time left.

Neither of them did.

Gathering all the strength she could muster, Mila grabbed him and started to drag him towards the door. The second she did, troopers poured down the stairs behind her. Mila dove behind a nearby wall, dragging an unconscious, moaning Poe with her. Gingerly she cradled his broken body in her arms, one hand gently supporting his head while her other hand reached for the pistol strapped to her thigh. She scowled.

Let one of them come around that corner. She'd tear them apart before they could touch him.

"…though we've found a small pocket of survivors in the west wing," one of the troopers fizzled into earshot. "We're moving to eradicate them."

Whoever the trooper was speaking to seemed pleased; Mila didn't have to see him to know.

"Good," his voice – deep and distorted and so sickeningly cold it could have frozen the whole desert over – darkly replied. "Take your squadron there immediately, Sergeant. Whoever you may have left behind I will deal with myself."

Despite the heat of the flames around her, Mila found herself shivering. Every last drop of blood in her veins froze over as he spoke. A scream welled up inside of her, but she clamped her mouth shut before it could escape.

The speaker took several laden steps forward; from where Mila was pinned to the wall, she could see his massive cloaked shadow mingling with the smoke. She hardly dared to breathe. Trembling violently, Mila squeezed her eyes shut. The shadow reached for his belt.

A crackling, spastic beam of crimson energy jutted out into the darkness, droning threateningly, unstably as its cross guards ignited to meet it.

The figure flipped the blade over his hand, bolted forwards, and charged deeper into the room. Agonized screams ripped through the hallway.

Paralyzed, Mila could only pray he wouldn't find her next.

* * *

"I will  _not_  wait any longer, Sergeant. Not with that… whoever he is out there. Criss had her chance."

Though she decently retained her composure, Krell's eyes flicked nervously to where that strange First Order shuttle had landed. "If she dies, it's her own damn fault," she added under her breath as she ascended the gangplank. "She should have listened."

The inside of the transport remained eerily still. Sergeants Marge and Forlin – Criss's "bodyguards", she thought with a disgusted huff – both still stood just in front of the gangplank, watching the now burning remains of the base with fleeting hope. Krell made her way to the transport's cockpit.

"Prepare to take off, Private," Krell ordered, her cold voice void of emotion. "We're done here."

Though he seemed nervous, the young Zabrak pilot didn't move a muscle. Didn't spare a single control a passing glance. Krell's impatience – her fear – flared.

"Did you hear me, Private?" she snapped. "I  _ordered_  you to—"

"With respect, ma'am, I  _am_ following orders."

"Oh, really? Then why isn't this ship—"

"I didn't say they were yours."

Krell scoffed. "Then whose?"

The young pilot turned around in his seat and pointed to the only other passenger on board: the body of Colonel Frevik J. Sundar.

" _He_  said everybody. I'm under orders not to take off until Lieutenant Criss returns."

"And if she doesn't?"

"She got me out of that mess hall," the pilot quietly retorted. "She  _will_."

* * *

Despite the flames that scorched overhead, Mila felt… cold. She might as well have been back on Hoth. Violent trembling rocked her entire body; the chill was so bad she half-expected to see her breath fog in front of her, and with every movement the masked officer made – with every low-droned pass of his crackling blade – it intensified.

His voice – a little more than a dark, distorted growl – clawed its way over the roaring hellhole, over the blasterfire, over the silent, desolate scream that shredded the inside of her brain. Every footstep pounded like a war drum. Through the smoke Mila was always able to follow his blade, the crimson light that pooled on the black smoke that bowed out of his way as he moved. So, at the very least, her back wasn't to him. If he came – when he came – she'd face him head on.

And he would have to kill her before he could even  _sense_  Poe.

The shadow stopped, yanked one of the mangled bodies up by its neck, and slammed it against the wall. The victim struggled as he pinned her in place with what Mila knew had to be the Force – as he raised a massive, black-gloved hand in front of her face, almost as if he expected her to hand him something. Against the fiery glow of his blade, Mila saw her tear-streaked face contort – saw her furiously shaking her head as if she were trying to shake the afterthoughts of a nightmare – before she opened her mouth in a loud, guttural wail.

The ice that had settled in around Mila nearly overwhelmed her. Her stomach turned. Her vision even darkened.

The shadow's victim – a Republic Command officer, by the looks of the uniform – finally dropped from the wall, her body losing all rigidity as it crumpled to the ground. The dark figure stepped back.

"Thank you," Mila heard him purr—

—just before he rammed his lightsaber into her throat. Mila fought not to scream.

Give it two minutes – if that long – and that would be her.

The demon – Mila had settled on calling him that, because no name could have been more fitting – slowly straightened.

Backed up.

Looked over his shoulder.

From under his hood, the grates of his mask glowed like lava.

Mila fought back terrified tears. If he'd seen her –  _when_  he saw her, which she was certain he would at any second – he'd meet a brave face. She wouldn't die afraid—or, at least,  _looking_  like she was afraid.

Before she realized what she was doing, she found herself praying. She wasn't a Jedi, or a Guardian of the Whills, a cleric, a clergyman or a priestess, but maybe, just  _maybe_ , the Force could still be there for her. Even if she couldn't use it herself… maybe it would decide to comfort her in her final moments. To protect her.

To spare her, even. And Poe.

The demon stood unflinching. All Mila could see of him was his profile, his head which, to her, looked molten. His blade hummed in his hand, but his grip on it had relaxed considerably and it was no longer raised for the kill. Maybe if she could see his face – if he even had a face to begin with – his brow would be furrowed confusedly.

Mila's weak little prayer tumbled harder. Grew a little braver.

Maybe… maybe he hadn't seen her yet. Maybe it was  _working_.

A little trickle of warmth – of peace – wrapped around Mila's shoulders like a blanket. Some of the chill melted away. Strength – a strength she'd never felt before – pulsed through her veins, reinvigorating her muscles. Setting her resolve to push on. To fight. To  _live_.

For the first time since he had entered that building, she started to believe she could.

The prayer intensified.

And the demon – by what Mila  _knew_  was only the grace of the Force – hulked deeper into the building, disappearing down a long, dark hallway as he caught another, stronger scent and followed it.

Now – though it was infinitesimally small – she had a chance at escape.

And she  _had_ to take it.

Shaking legs fighting to support her, Mila stood and grabbed Poe, straining as she pulled him across the transparisteel-strewn floor. He suddenly moaned. Mila's stomach sank to her toes.

She could hurt him even worse trying to drag him around like this. Force only knew what kind of damage had already been done. She didn't want to make it worse.

She had another option. One she had trained for, but one she seriously doubted she could effectively carry out. But it was the only option she had left, so it was the one she went with.

Mila dropped Poe's arms, gritted her teeth, and hauled the pilot's broken body onto her shoulders. Initially buckling under the weight – he was almost a head taller than her and a good bit more built – Mila struggled to take a step forward. But her resolve – and this strange, newfound strength – made up her mind for her.

She'd push on. She  _did_  push on. Though her back was to her enemy – she was certain she'd seen him come back into her part of the room just as she'd picked Poe up – she trusted that whatever had kept him from seeing her before would shield her now.

Her eyes found the door; her feet stepped over the threshold and out into the open, near smokeless air. A cough tore out of her lungs as she sized up the distance to the flight line.

To a single New Republic transport which, to her complete surprise, still waited for her.

All that stood between her and it was three hundred standard feet.

Gathering the last bit of strength she had left, she took off at as close to a sprint as she could muster. Every muscle in her body screamed for quarter as she demanded they work harder, to run faster. Every raspy breath stung.

She'd cleared the first fifty feet, and that transport hadn't moved.

She made herself keep going.

One hundred. One hundred twenty-five. One hundred fifty.

She was halfway there. Coughing a little as her exhausted body protested, she drove herself onwards even as her legs began to weaken.

One hundred seventy-five. Two hundred. She could see BB-8 at the base of the gangplank, could hear him howling across the flight line to her, to his unconscious master.

But it hadn't been an encouragement. It had been a warning.

Two Stormtroopers – both armed with blaster rifles – cut off Mila's escape, one behind her and one in front. Winded and now trapped, the medic skidded to a halt. She moved to reach for her blaster.

But in order to draw it, she'd have to drop Poe. That  _didn't_  happen.

Maybe it was their time after all.

Defeated, she bowed her head. The troopers raised their rifles.

Someone fired, but it was neither of them. Both collapsed with smoking holes in their chests. It was then Mila realized her blaster had been pulled from its holster… and who had just used it.

" _Go_ ," Poe rasped from on top of her shoulders.

Mila charged forward. More troopers emerged from the alleyways around them, and Poe shot every last one of them down.

One hundred more feet. Fifty.

A stray blaster bolt plunged into the top of Mila's right arm. She screamed. Her knees buckled to a kneel.

Despite the overwhelming pain, she forced her wobbling legs to a stand and back up to a sprint. BB-8 rolled out to meet her, speeding alongside his master's savior as she ran. The transport finally opened fire.

Twenty feet. Ten.

Mila's feet finally slammed into durasteel. Two more strides and she would be inside.

The second she and Poe crossed the threshold – the second the gangplank rose and the transport lifted off – she collapsed.

* * *

"The last transport's away!" Calo cheered, smiling as it rose above the thick rug of smoke that covered the flight line so thickly that he couldn't see it. "Karé—"

"I see it!" she called back, relief seeping through her voice. "All wings, stay tight on me and flank that transport!"

A TIE fighter dropped in behind the transport. Karé gladly blew it to pieces.

"Not on my watch," she glowered. "Not another one."

Karé dipped under the transport and took up the lead, while the other three fighters – she still hadn't quite grasped that only  _three_  of the original seventeen that had taken off had survived – fell in around it.

Now, the run for the atmosphere.

Smoke and sand and green ion bolts zipped through Calo's dazed peripheral as they charged upwards. As the heavy weight of Rattatak's gravity  _finally_  gave way to the weightlessness of space.

Never had he been more happy to leave a planet behind.

As soon as he looked up, that relief instantly died.

Sitting in the distance – a dragon with open jaws, waiting for them to fly into them – was a  _Resurgent_ -class Star Destroyer. TIEs poured from its belly like newly-hatched spiders from an egg sack.

"All teams," Karé's pale voice trembled coldly over the comms, almost as if she'd seen a wild animal she was trying desperately not to upset. "You've got the rendezvous coordinates. Prepare to make the jump—"

Distant cannons boomed through Calo's cockpit.

The Destroyer had opened fire.

" _Jump!_ " Karé ordered, nearly at a shriek. "All wings, jump!  _Now!"_

With shaking hands, Calo flipped a few switches on the A-wing's console, and the chaos evaporated into the calming swirl of the hyperspace tunnel. Sobs – which he had been holding back since the second he'd taken off – now quietly rocked his body.

He'd survived, but at what cost?

He was the only member of Echo Squadron left. How would he tell Tover and Varsha's next-of-kin? How would he tell  _any_  of his former squad mates' families?

He sighed distantly. He would figure it out. He could ask Mila for help once he found her again; he was certain his sister had escaped—

Another question – one that paralyzed him and stopped his breath all together – flashed in his mind:

Where was Jaren?

* * *

He watched the transport and remaining fighters stretch and snap into hyperspace – his final hope of escape disappearing into the freedom of space. But since he'd parted ways from his sister all those hours ago, Jaren Criss  _knew_  he probably wouldn't come back from it.

He and what was left of his men – Skid, Serra, and two others – crouched behind a bolder in the middle of the desert, less than one hundred standard feet away from the burning skeleton of a TIE fighter.

If this didn't get the Senate's attention, he didn't know what would.

"You recording, Skid?"

The Pathfinder – armed with Jaren's holo-recorder – nodded nervously. "Yes, sir."

Looking to make sure the coast was clear, Jaren gestured for his men to follow him in. Tremulous feet edged across the sand, almost as if he were nearing the corpse of a krayt dragon that he half-expected to be alive. Slowly, he reached up and touched the durasteel. His hands shook.

"If I can get a piece of this—"

" _Colonel, get down!_ "

The cry hadn't been all the way uttered before it was silenced by blasterfire. Those around him – Skid, Serra, all of them – collapsed before he could even turn around.

And when he tried to, he found that he couldn't.

Not because of fear of what he might see, but because something had frozen him in place.  _Paralyzed_  him.

The harder he struggled against his invisible bonds, the stronger – the colder and more dreadful – they became. Fear of a sort he had never known iced his heart over. If he could have – his ability to speak was robbed from him as well – he would have bellowed a protest.

His hazel eyes caught his holo-recorder rolling to just behind his feet. If he could reach for it – if he could somehow break his Force-induced restraints and grab it – then he could—

A shadow emerged behind him, masked and hooded in black and grey. Its reflection shimmered in the cracked transparisteel in front of him, a broken mirror revealing the ghost that now loomed within arm's length. The figure reached for his belt.

Jaren didn't have to look to know what the shadow had ignited. The hum – the smell of plasma – gave it away.

He thrashed against his bonds, but to no avail.

The next second, the saber protruded through his chest. He felt himself falling. His ability to breathe all but left him, and what little strength he did have left burned away with every breath.

Weakly, he reached for the holo-recorder. He hoped that, as sick as it may have sounded, it had captured what was about to be his demise.

The Senate would just  _love_  footage of a First Order grunt – if that was what the shadow was – running down a high-ranking New Republic officer.

As his vision and coordination faltered, he fumbled to stop the recording and bring up a contact list. Someone he trusted with more than his life, someone that he knew without a shadow of a doubt would pass this information on.

Someone that would make him and the rest Rattatak's victims martyrs.

Finally his fingers found the name: Agent Lana Solomon. A prominent Senate Intelligence officer and, more prominently, his wife.

She deserved to know. The entire Republic deserved to know. He knew she'd carry the message.

The second his finger tapped  _send_ , he slipped away.


	31. I Only Get One Shot

_Chapter 31: I Only Get One Shot_

" _Stay with me_."

Her voice splintering through damaged vocal cords and teetering on the edge of a sob, Mila combed shaking fingers through Poe's matted hair. She'd already taken off his helmet – it was cracked in several places and had splintered into his scalp – and had just worked up the courage to assess his wounds.

Almost his entire flight suit was soaked through with blood. His skin had long since paled from shock. Judging from the bizarre, jutting angle of his shoulders, Mila knew he'd broken his collarbone, but in how many places? Was anything else fractured? How much blood had he lost? He'd been in the cockpit when that engine had exploded, so he had to have been burned, but where, and how badly?

Mila's stomach turned. Only one way to find out.

Not at all prepared for what she was about to see, she tore the front of his flight suit open. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. In a feeble attempt to calm herself, she squeezed her eyes shut.

Was this something she could actually fix?

Poe's clammy brow furrowed. His brown eyes heavily opened. An overjoyed smile burst across Mila's tearstained face.

At least he was awake.

The faint gasp that escaped his lips quickly crescendoed into a loud, guttural scream. Mila scrambled for sedative and rammed the needle into his thigh as she rushed to calm him back down.

"Hey," she whispered hoarsely. "Look at me. You're okay."

His entire body shook. Wincing as she lifted him into her arms – the smoking hole in her shoulder furiously demanded attention, but she ignored it – she kissed his forehead and held him close as she pressed a thick white cloth to his chest in an effort to slow the bleeding. Poe's eyes wandered down his broken body.

"Don't look at it," Mila fought to refocus his attention. Her voice sank to a whisper. "Look at me, baby. Look at me."

Poe's gaze rose to meet hers. Pain pooled in his irises. Furrowed at the middle of his brow. Dazed, confused, he tried to lift a shaking hand – to meet hers or to touch her face, she never found out – but the weight proved to be too heavy for his exhausted body to bear. She watched him struggle against his stupor, though nothing – not a touch, not a whisper, not even a full breath – could escape through the excruciating crypt he was locked in.

It was all Mila could do not to break down watching him.

Terse footsteps tapped out of the transport's cockpit. Mila tensed.

"You have nerve," Krell crossed her long, unscathed arms across her chest and drew herself up to her full, towering height. "I can give you that. But do not think for  _one second_  that you will walk away from this with your head held high."

Mila kept her attention on the man in her arms. A flustered Krell scoffed.

"An officer just spoke to you, Lieutenant Criss," Krell icily went on. "You lack the respect to—"

"Major,  _please_ —"

" _Colonel_."

Mila scowled. There were  _so_  many things she could say to that, but didn't know where to start. And now was  _not_  the time.

She had more pressing things to do.

Displeased with the lack of attention she was receiving, Krell finally exploded:

"You defied a  _direct order_ , Lieutenant! For what? To—"

"Sundar said  _everybody_ —"

"Out of the hall, not out of the base! Republic Command was  _completely_  unspoken for. I  _ordered_  you to fall back, and you—"

" _I couldn't just leave him!_ "

The ferocity in her own voice took Mila aback. Krell recoiled in surprise. Though she fought to stop them, angry tears leaked down Mila's face.

"I…"

She found she couldn't speak. From the corner, BB-8 rolled to her side and pressed up against her good arm, whimpering. Poe's weakened fingers brushed his old friend's metal side. If the little droid could have cried, Mila was certain he would have.

"Well?" Krell drilled, taking a step forward. "You what?"

Mila swallowed. "I wasn't leaving him behind to die. It… he would've burned to death—"

"Yes, Lieutenant, he would have. Just as so many others did. As  _I_  almost did—"

"You weren't even close, Maj—" she corrected herself with a snarl "— _Colonel_."

"Because I had sense—"

"Because you're a damn coward!"

"There is a  _sharp_  line between bravery and recklessness—"

"So Sundar was reckless when he ordered us all in? And you were brave when you  _stayed behind?!_ "

"I was smart—"

"No," Mila spat, laughing from sheer anger. "You weregutless.  _Are_  gutless."

Krell's jaw tightened. "And who is the one weeping at my feet?  _Look_  at you, Criss. You're terrified.  _Weak_."

Livid, Mila raised her head and locked eyes with her commanding officer.

"You  _defied my orders,_  Lieutenant.  _Multiple_  orders,  _solely_  on account of this man's life." She dropped to a menacing squat, right next to Mila's ear. "So when this is reported to General Antilles and he  _court marshals_  you, when we take  _everything_  from you – your command, your rank, your dignity – you had  _better_  be able to answer for your crimes, because they will haunt you for the rest of your life."

Speechless, Mila could only stare at the floor. Krell leaned in closer. "And so I ask you again, Lieutenant—"

" _Why?_ "

The word came out in a frail, parched whisper, but as it did, Poe's clammy hand finally found Mila's and weakly wrapped around it.

"Why, Mila?" he breathed. "What… what the hell were you thinking? You… you could have been  _killed_ —"

"I wasn't losing you."

Poe coughed. "Why not?" he winced crossly. "I… I'm just one man, Mila. Am…" His brow furrowed exhaustedly. "You worked you ass off to get to where you are, Mil. I can't be… Am I really worth losing  _all of that_  for—"

Mila shakily, tearfully nodded.

"No."

" _Yes, you are_."

"Mila—"

" _Stop_." Tears streamed down Mila's face. "Look, I can rebuild my career. It'd be painful in the onset, but even if I'm done here, I'm not losing  _everything_. Not even close. I've got more chances than I can count in more places I know exist. Point is, it wouldn't even be close to over. I'd find  _something_. But with you?"

"There's only one of you, Poe," she quaked, aggressively fighting back a sob. "I only get  _one_  shot.  _One._ " A shaking hand combed through his hair. "And I'm  _not_  blowing it."

Poe's eyes frustratedly clenched shut. "That's… crazy. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. And I don't care."

"Mila—"

"I'm not doing life without you, Poe. It's that simple."

He stared up at her indignantly, but something in his gaze told Mila he understood. He may not have accepted it – he might not ever, something inside her curtly pointed out – but at least he'd be alive to be angry with her in the first place.

Poe's body suddenly went limp. He teetered on the edge of consciousness.

"Poe?"

His eyes closed, and his head slumped into the crook of her arm. His already haggard breathing shallowed.

" _Poe!_ "

A sob breaking through her lungs, Mila pressed her forehead to his and softly rocked him in her arms. BB-8 pushed up against her side, warbling inconsolably.

"No, buddy," Mila whispered. "Don't say that. He… he's gonna be fine, little guy. Wait and see."

The transport snapped back into realspace and barreled towards the newly-emerged Mon Calamari medical cruiser that had come to intercept them. Mila's swollen eyes found Darren in the corner.

"Call in a medical capsule, Sergeant."

The stunned soldier stared back at his commanding officer wordlessly. Then to Krell. Back to Mila.

" _Quickly_."

More than a little flustered, Darren complied. Bright white light filled the transport as it hovered into the hangar, as it touched down. Hydraulics hissed from outside. The gangplank dropped. Darren ran down to meet the capsule as it was rushed towards them.

"…it's bad," Mila heard him warn. "I doubt he's gonna make it."

 _The hell he won't_.

As gently as they could, Mila and Darren raised the wounded pilot into the capsule. Mila hopped up next to him; now that she had better light, she could really see what all he had going on.

She could finally size up the beast. And she could only pray she could beat it.

They left the hangar and rushed down a long, white hallway, not unlike the one she had first spoken to Poe a year beforehand. Everything they had been through – the good and the bad, the pain, the loss, the joy and the sorrow – flashed before her eyes. She thought of his squadron. His family. His father and grandfather back on Yavin IV, who had to have been worried out of their minds if they knew.

She couldn't let him leave them as much as she couldn't let him leave her.

They finally wheeled into the OR, and it was then Mila noticed that Darren had disappeared. Her brow furrowed nervously.

"Sergeant?" she called.

"He isn't here," Krell answered coolly. "He's a good soldier. He's following orders."

Clearly Mila had missed something. "What orders?"

"We are all to report to Republic Command. We're going to tell them what happened."

"Were we ordered there?"

"No, but we're going to tell them nonetheless." Krell's eyes narrowed. "I thought you would be excited to prove me wrong to Command, Criss. Everything you said about the First Order was right; now is your chance to prove it."

"We have a patient, Colonel."

"No, we do not."

Mila's eyes widened. Sharply she looked back up at Krell. "Excuse me?"

"Report to Republic Command in fifteen minutes, Lieutenant. That is an  _order_. One that I  _will_  bring up to General Antilles if broken. On top of all the others."

Mila's eyes darted across the floor in panic. Shakily, she brushed a stray dark brown wave out of Poe's face. Krell shrugged unapologetically.

"Listen, I don't give a damn about how much you may care about him. The simple fact is that we can't save them all, Lieutenant," she said icily. "Perhaps if he died it would finally teach you that lesson."

"So that's it then?" Mila glared up at the colonel, seething. "You're not going to doyourjob just so you can prove a point?"

Krell's nostrils flared. " _Fifteen_   _minutes_ , Lieutenant. I had  _better_  see you in that command center."

Without another word the colonel spun on her heel and left. Mila – now alone save for the medical droids that dutifully stood at the ready – looked down at the body in her arms. The body of the man she loved. One that was quickly fading.

Her jaw hardened.

It might cost her everything, but she didn't care.

She knew what she had to do.

* * *

Never in her life had Karé been more relieved to land. Buckling knees wobbled down the ladder; trembling hands yanked off her helmet, her flight gauntlets. Her faithful R4 unit rolled to her side and pressed up against her leg in an attempt to comfort her. A ghost of a smile flickered across her face.

BB-8 had rubbed off on him.

Neither of them would see the little guy again. Or his master.

She'd seen the crash. The explosion that followed minutes later. There was not way either of them survived.

So the list – one that Karé wished she never had to keep – expanded to twenty-one. Eleven of Echo. Nine Rapiers. One spunky BB unit – though she almost felt a little foolish to count an astromech amongst the casualties. But BB-8 had been her friend, just as much as Poe or Kit or any of the others had been, so count him she did.

The First Order was going to pay for their deaths. She didn't know how, and she didn't know when. All she knew was that they would. Somehow.

And as Iolo and Muran hobbled towards her, she knew she wasn't alone.

The three Rapiers stared at each other blankly before Karé threw her arms around both of them at the same time. She squeezed her dark eyes shut and held her brothers close. As they held her.

 _We're all that's left_ , she thought. _Holy kriff…._

Karé watched Calo – who was just as palely shocked as they were – shakily inch down his own ladder in the distance, slide to the ground, and break into sobs. Anger boiled inside her. She dropped her arms from Iolo and Muran's sides.

"I'm going to Command," she growled.

* * *

Years of training stilled Mila's shaking hands, but the despairing thought still chewed away at her mind as she scrubbed at her arms and retied her brown hair back. As she, not for the first time, pulled on a surgical gown over her fatigues, a surgical mask over her face.

Fifteen minutes had passed fifteen minutes ago. She could have cared less. Missing that meeting smothered any chance she had of maintaining a military career.

But she had more important things to fight for.

It was just her and the droids, but as the anesthetics droid had pointed out right before it put Poe under, that was all Mila needed.

With a concentrated sigh – with one last exhausted prayer – she reached up, angled the surgical lights where she needed them to be, and got to work.


	32. Out of Line

_Chapter 32: Out of Line_

She still remembered the day she had met him.

She remembered meeting all of her squad mates – every single detail of their first encounters was forever etched in her mind – but Karé always thought that meeting Poe had been different. Maybe it was because they had both been so young. Younger than Echo Squadron had been, younger even than Kit. Eighteen, away from their small homes, out alone in a big galaxy for the first time and terrified out of their minds to be so – though both of them would have died before admitting it. Maybe it was due to their mutual goals. Maybe it was because Iolo had been with him. Maybe it had something to do with Poe himself – that strong, unmovable confidence he was so famous for was then only a quiet, irresistible cheekiness, one that even then drew people to his side like Vashkan dacs to honey.

Or maybe it was because she  _roasted_  him in a game of sabaac, and it was the only time in his short life that he'd  _ever_  been showed up.

Karé ghosted a smile.

Things had been so different then. Simple. When the world was no bigger than Starfleet Academy, and the word  _war_  was reserved for the history books.

If only that were still true now. If only…

If only he were still here. He would know exactly what to say, exactly what to do.

It would be him storming to Command, not her.

People ran past her through the cruiser's stark white hallways, whether looking for answers about lost comrades or merely trying to get to their next station, she didn't know. But judging from the murmurs, the heads turning, the scathingly contrite glances she received as she walked past, there was one thing she did know:

Word had gotten out.

How far it had spread she wasn't sure of, but at the very least, the others aboard the cruiser had at least an inkling of what had happened. At the very least, they knew thousands of people had died, and only a few hundred – some whispered even smaller numbers – had lived to tell the tale. They knew that Karé was a survivor; her tired, swollen eyes and her messy hair gave her away.

Rapier had been destroyed, and every hollow condolence she received as she walked rubbed more and more salt into that profusely bleeding wound.

Just shut up, leave me alone, she wanted to scream.

Finally the lift tube door appeared in front of her. Shaking hands hurriedly punched the controls, and when the door – after what seemed like an eternity – finally slid open, she pivoted inside and shut it fast enough that no one could follow her. The lift ascended, and after a long, sleepless night of engine noise, cannon fire, shouts of despair, and her own sobs, it was quiet. Numbingly quiet.

Karé didn't quite know what to do with it.

Had Poe or Kit – especially Kit – had been there, they would have filled it. What she wouldn't have given to hear their voices one last time. To take Poe's counsel, Kit's jokes. Her world was a good bit bleaker without them. She could still hear their voices, see their smiles. She almost allowed herself one of her own, but the grief that stung her heart weighed the corners of her mouth down. Nastier memories – some of which had been reality less than an hour beforehand – slithered through her mind. Groaning TIE fighters welled again in her ears; the acrid scent of engine fumes wafted up her nose. The world again came to a frenzied, shrieking halt as Kit fell beneath a curtain of smoke, as Poe dove into the nearest pack of TIEs he could shoot at, only to be killed himself, two more horrific replays to add to the ever-lengthening reel coiled in her mind.

Would Command even believe her this time?

They had to. More than a handful of soldiers had suffered the same as she had, and how else did the Senate wish to explain the disappearance of almost an entire squadron?

Of over three thousand soldiers?

The lift slowed; the doors opened. The Rapier gritted her teeth.

Only one way to find out.

Fighting to maintain a neutral expression, Captain Karé Kun stepped out of the lift, squared her shoulders, and went around the corner to Command headquarters.

 _They'll listen_ , she told herself.  _They have to. You've got more than enough proof; more than enough witnesses—_

She looked up and stopped in her tracks. Her dark eyes popped. She wasn't the only one there. Another group had beaten her there and, judging from the sealed Command door, was already deep in discussion. With an exhausted sigh, Karé lowered herself onto a nearby bench, wrote out her official engagement report, sent it in, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Karé checked her chrono. Over three hours had slogged by since she arrived. What in hell was holding them up?

Finally the thick black doors opened, and the group – Karé counted enough for a battalion – filed out in front of her. She watched them for a second. Between the bruises denting their faces and the ash smeared across their skin – from the burns that singed their battered uniforms – they had to have been on the ground. One, she noted, carried a medkit. They  _all_  carried medkits.

Soon enough Karé caught a familiar cold blue eye staring at her confusedly – even a bit remorsefully – from over top of the throng of battered soldiers. Her relatively clean uniform stuck out like a shiny new yacht in a junkyard.

Krell.

And if Krell was there—

Karé's heart jumped into her throat and dropped to her toes all at once.

Where was Mila? Had she survived? And… did she… did she know about….

She scrutinized each soldier as they passed. Her stomach turned.

Mila wasn't there.

They'd lost her, too.

Something resembling relief seeped through Karé's veins. At least Poe wasn't alone.

The weary medics trudged past her and disappeared around the corner. The black doors they'd just come through still gaped open, daring her to walk in.

 _They'll believe you_ , the Rapier thought as she stepped through the threshold, as she walked down the long aisle to the holotransmitter.  _They have to._

Taking a deep breath as she plugged in the transmission codes – Poe's old codes, that she had been asked to memorize for this very reason – she stretched her tired back out to its full height and smoothed what flyaways she could back down into her collapsing braids.

She needed to command as much of the room as she could. Poe always had, and they'd at least considered listening to him.

Deso's enlarged likeness – joined in tandem by those of the Republic Command officers and their Senatorial supervisors – flickered to life. Deso's brow furrowed.

"Lieutenant Kun, where's Rapier One?"

Karé raised her chin and set her hands on her hips. She fought to keep her voice from shaking:

"I  _am_  Rapier One."

Deso's jaw dropped. The Senators – Karé recognized one of them as Ro-Kiintor – exchanged nervous glances.

"Poe's dead, Lonno," she replied to the major's bewildered expression. "So's Kit. So's Echo."

She felt her eyes narrow to a glare before she could stop them. Karé nearly growled.

"The First Order killed them."

* * *

Three hours, twenty-two minutes, and fifty-seven seconds. The longest of Lieutenant Mila Criss's life.

Thank the Force she was almost done.

The medical droids – thank the Force for them, too – struggled to keep him stable through the operation, a task that proved to be difficult in the onset. His heart had stopped twice within the first hour; his lung collapsed a third of the way through the second. There were times when Mila seriously doubted Poe would survive – or that she could save him.

But for whatever reason, he hung on. He fought. Mila'd always known him to be stubborn, to be tenacious and strong, but it hadn't been until right now that she realized just how deep that streak ran. It pulsed in his blood; sighed with his breath.

It kept him alive.

Mila closed the last incision.

The galaxy may have been finished with Poe Dameron, but Poe Dameron wasn't finished with it.

* * *

This may have been the only time that Karé had ever seen Command completely silent.

She'd stumbled through her testimony – not because the particulars of the hell she'd lived through that night were unclear, but because they were so clearly fresh in her mind she could recall every last, heavy detail. She'd fought to paint the picture, to not only appeal to the facts, but strike at their emotions. Her own ran too high for her comfort.

Senator Ro-Kiintor cleared his throat. Karé's eyes alone begged him to do what she and the other survivors so desperately needed him to.

"My condolences, Captain," he said simply.

Karé's heart raced.  _He believes me?_

"Your story's a tough one, Captain Kun," Deso picked up, a hint of disdain sneaking into his voice. Karé's heart dropped. "But not a single report I received mentioned the First Order. Every one of them pointed to the Rattataki instigating the fight. To  _them_  attacking the base. Sounds like the stole some pretty heavy weaponry and went…."

Karé saw his lips form the words, but she heard none of them. Her head spun. She felt sick.

_I'm not hearing this._

"With respect, sir, where did you receive these reports?"

Ro-Kiintor looked down his pale nose at her. "They were all sent straight to me, and I redistributed them to every member of Republic Command for—"

"What about  _mine_ , Senator? You have it in writing, and I just restated the entire thing—"

" _You_  said in  _your_  written report that your comrades' fighters were shot down by an  _unknown_  ground patrol—"

Karé's eyes popped. " _Where_  does it say that, Senator!? I described those TIE fighters down to the model! How did you get—"

The holo flickered as the imaging switched from the Command officers over to Karé's report. Her name, rank, and squadron, the date of the engagement, and the casualty list were all in place, just as they should have been.

That was the only text she recognized.

"Someone tampered with that report, Senator," she said hastily, her face flushing with panic. "I didn't write that—"

"You can't prove that, Captain."

Karé's eyebrows arched angrily. "I have the draft."

"File creation dates and times can be counterfeited," Ro-Kiintor coolly replied. "How do we know you wouldn't drum up a false draft after this meeting and stamp it with the incorrect date?"

" _Thousands_  of others saw what I saw, or at least a version of it—"

"You're a known warmonger, Captain. You've practically  _begged_  for a fight for the past year, you  _and_ your friends. That makes you a biased, and therefore  _unreliable_  source." Arrogance wafted from the Senator's narrowed gaze; a small hint of victory danced in his eyes. "None of the reports I have received are even remotely close to what you are trying – and failing – to shove down my throat." He turned to the Command officers around him. "Are they, gentlemen?"

The officers shook their heads. Desperate, Karé turned back to Deso.

"You've known me since I was still in the Academy, Lonno," she begged, trying to keep her voice steady and failing. "Would I lie about something like this?"

Deso almost sounded remorseful. "I don't know, Karé."

Ro-Kiintor's thin lip curled a bit. "It seems she is lying to your face  _now_ , Major—"

Karé finally exploded. "It's obvious  _someone_  is lying here, Senator, and I can  _promise_ you it isn't me!" she roared. "I was  _there_. I  _saw_  what happened. The Rattataki were  _nowhere_  close to that base; as a matter of fact, the Order wiped them out before they could even leave the village—"

"Colonel Krell just told me her men were attacked by the tribesman," Deso cut her off. "And the reports forwarded to me by Senator Ro-Kiintor all back that up, including yours."

Karé gaped as she fought for a response.

"You would risk contradicting your  _own_  report to spread your lies, Captain?" Ro-Kiintor tried to hide the satisfied sneer that wormed across his face, but Karé saw through it. "Now that  _is_  cheeky, and not to mention  _stupid_ —"

"Two of my best friends are  _dead_ , Senator—"

"That is most unfortunate. But how  _dare_  you try to twist that tragedy so  _you_  can gain from it—"

" _You_  are the one twisting things here, Erudo!" Karé cried, her anger flaring all the more when she couldn't stop tears from welling in her eyes. Her furious mind ran off with her tongue before she could stop it. "Just like you did after Dantooine, which,  _guess what_ , I was  _also_  there for, and I  _also_  lost friends to, and I  _know for a kriffing fact_  you lied to the entire Senate, and dammit, to the whole galaxy about! My only question is why the  _hell_  have you been so hesitant to believe what we're telling you when you and the Republic you claim to serve  _in no way_  benefit from it—"

"Captain," Deso cut her off. "You are  _way_ out of line."

Karé seethed. "I may be," she spat, shaking her head. "But at least I'm not afraid to admit to the truth."

Before they could stop her, Captain Karé Kun switched off the holo and stormed out.

* * *

Bacta controls were a welcome change from vibroscalpels, and never had Mila been more thankful to set them in her life. This would go a long way to healing Poe's considerable wounds. Incision marks and bruises jutted across his chest, almost like he'd been lightly flogged, and when he woke up, she didn't want him to feel the considerable pain that would come with them.

If… If he woke up at all.

Mila shoved the thought from her mind. Of course he would. He… he was  _Poe_. He had to. He  _had_ to, so he would, she told herself.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the voice that sneered otherwise.

She watched him for a second. If not for the marks, the bruises, the burns, he'd look like he was asleep. Peace wafted across his face; as the liquid around him cradled his battered body, he seemed to melt into it.

He would be fine.

 _No he won't be_.

He'd push through—

 _No he won't_.  _You don't even know if he'll remain stable_ —

Mila couldn't take it. After fighting the urge for hours – after swallowing everything she had seen in an effort to shut the devastated world around her out – she collapsed into a nearby chair, sobbing so hard her lungs couldn't find space to breathe.

The casualty list was already too long, and far too personal. She couldn't add Poe's name to it. She  _couldn't_.

She hadn't heard from Calo or Jaren, either. They were dead, that same vicious voice hissed overbearingly. Just as Sundar was. She hadn't been fast enough for the colonel; she hadn't stopped Jaren from running off into the desert.

If her brother was dead, it was her fault.

Mila fought to catch her breath and failed. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her head throbbed. Her own wounds, which she still hadn't seen to, had grown stiff, and every haggard breath stabbed at the ribs she was certain were bruised.

She felt something cold push up under her hand and snuggle against her calf. BB-8 whimpered as he tried to comfort her. Mila's trembling hand tightened around the top of his dome as she leaned back, squeezed her eyes shut, and forced air into her lungs.

 _Pull yourself together_ , the voice harassed.

 _You're supposed to be_ strong _._

Mila furiously wiped the tears from her face. Her body all of a sudden felt twenty times as heavy as it had a moment ago. She hadn't slept since she had woken up to sirens on Hoth, and that exhaustion had finally caught up to her. Try as she might, she couldn't fight off the sleep that engulfed her.

The second it did , she was sent straight back to Rattatak.

Sirens wailed. The building around her still burned; people – the First Order's victims – again screamed for help.  _Her_  help. It was what she was trained for, what she was born to do.

But she was trapped against the floor with the agent leering over her, smiling sadistically as he nearly crushed her neck in his hands.

She couldn't help them if she couldn't help herself. She could have saved more, but she didn't finish the agent off when she should have, and she paid dearly for that mistake.

And she, now, relieved every last minute detail of that failure – the pain, the explosions, the  _fear_  – so vividly she thought it was happening  _again_.

" _The harder you fight, my dear, the_ longer _it will ta—_ "

Air suddenly rushed into Mila's lungs. She sat bolt upright in the chair she had fallen asleep in, unable to stop the loud, hoarse shriek that bounced between the cruiser's pristine white walls before it tore from her throat. Her body shook with hyperventilation. Reality – the cruiser, the tools, the bacta tank – flickered in and out of her vision as it fought to regain its hold.

It couldn't.

Beeping shrieked in Mila's ears. She dove under a nearby chair, hugged her knees to her chest, and squeezed her teary eyes shut.

Grenade.

Had she known where it was, she would have thrown herself on top of it, but of course she couldn't locate it. Now more people would die, and it would be her fault—

" _Lieutenant?_ "

Suddenly the pulse in her ears softened. Her true surroundings came fully back into focus. Mila trembled.

"D-Darren?"

Darren's brow furrowed. "Are you okay?" He came closer, and for some reason Mila couldn't resist the urge to curl up and shrink deeper into her hiding place. Concern flooded across Darren's features.

Mila could hardly get the words out. "I-I thought… I thought there was a grenade…"

Darren's deep-toned face fell further. "Just the bacta tank, ma'am," he reassured, somewhat at a loss of what to do. "He's ready to come out."

Mila stared at him, wide-eyed and panting.

"You're safe here, Mila," Darren went on. "It's all over."

Wobbly, Mila stood and took a deep breath. Shame burned at her cheeks. She nodded towards the tank. "Help me out?"

Darren switched off the timer, and stiff silence engulfed the room. "Of course I will."

The lid slid off the top of the bacta tank as nearby medical droids lifted it's battered occupant out of the liquid and lowered him onto a sterile table. Worry or a kind she'd never felt twisted her stomach into knots.

As badly as she wanted to – as badly as she  _needed_ to – she couldn't bring herself to look at him, not at first.

Finally her eyes drifted across his face. His skin was still pale and sunken in, but the bacta had done its job. Poe already looked a little better. Tears flooded Mila's eyes, but she aggressively fought them back.

She'd already lost it once tonight, and in front of one of her men. That  _would not_  happen again.

Mila gingerly ran a towel through Poe's hair and slipped him into a set of medcenter clothes the droids had kept warm. A wave of nostalgia washed over her.

The last time she'd done this, it had been with Kit. She wondered where the boy was, and she knew he'd be beside himself to find his commander alive. All the Rapiers would be, wherever they were.

Finally Darren moved a hospital bed next to the table, and the droids lifted Poe up and into it. As soon as they got him comfortable, she sat down next to him and took one of his hands in both of hers. She watched his chest fall haggardly underneath the sheets.

 _Breathe, baby. Breathe_.

Darren put a hand on her shoulder. "I can watch him for a few, Lieutenant," he said gently. "You've still got to tend to yourself—"

"I'm fine, Darren—"

"With respect, ma'am, you've got a hole in your arm—"

" _I said I'm fine!_ " she suddenly snapped, and immediately regretted it.

Darren recoiled. Mila sighed hard.

"I'm sorry, Darren," she whispered, barely audible. She hung her head, unable to look at her old friend. She still visibly trembled.

Darren's grip on her shoulder tightened. "He's gonna be fine, Mila," he cajoled. "I can patch you up right here, if it would make you feel better—"

The doors on the other side of the room suddenly hissed open.

" _Lieutenant Criss!_ "

Mila's heart stopped. " _Damn_  it," she breathed weakly.

Krell's terse footsteps pounded into the white tile floor. A snide smile snapped across her face. "Command noticed your absence, Lieutenant." She put her hands on her knees and leaned down in Mila's face. "I did, too."

Mila didn't look at her.

Darren shifted uncomfortably. "Colonel, please—"

"You're dismissed, Sergeant."

Squeezing Mila's shoulder apologetically, Darren stepped back and left the room. Mila tried to steel herself.

"If you think for one second that I won't take this to court marshal, you are  _gravely_  mistaken, Lieutenant."

Silence.

"An officer just spoke to you, Lieutenant. It would behoove you to respond."

Mila made no reply. Her exhausted eyes wandered to Poe's face. Maybe if she could focus on it, on  _him_ , she could shut out some of the—

"Is he alive?" Krell asked, her voice completely devoid of sympathy.

"You tell me, Colonel," Mila croaked shakily.

Krell surveyed Poe's body for hardly a second before turning back to her target. "Even if he is now, he won't be for long. Those wounds are grievous, and there is no way  _you_  possibly put him back together well enough on your own to—"

Mila finally shrunk away. "Colonel," she begged, squeezing her eyes shut.

"What?" Krell retorted. "He's going to die, Criss. You might as well accept it. Compound that failure on top of your impeding strip from command, and maybe, just  _maybe_ , you'll  _finally_  be knocked down to a level where you may actually  _respect my…._ "

Krell's voice trailed unexpectedly, and her breath caught in her throat. The colonel's icy eyes finally left her… and the grip on Mila's clammy hand tightened.

"Commander Dameron," Krell gaped.

Mila's heart nearly pounded out of her chest as she looked back towards Poe. His eyes were open. She gasped, and before she could stop them, tears leaked down her cheeks. Nearly all of the weight that had crashed down on her shoulders lifted. She could breathe again.

He was alive—and judging from the pained, pointed look in his eyes, he was absolutely furious.

Krell fumbled for words. "I—"

" _Leave_ , Major," the commander growled. "That's an order."

"It's  _Colonel_ , and you can't—"

"I don't care. Get.  _Out_."

The words had hardly left his parched lips before Krell retreated into the hallway. The doors sealed shut behind her. Mila's swollen eyes wandered back to Poe's face, and he offered her a gentle, reassuring smile.

"C'mere," he whispered weakly.

The sobs Mila had been fighting back since she woke up finally ripped out of her lungs. She started to put her head on his shoulder but stopped short.

"You're bruised," she wheezed between breaths.

He reached towards her and pulled her to him. Mila sank into his arms, and though he winced as the weight of her head came down on his shoulder, he didn't move. His eyes opened a little wider. His vision cleared a bit. And suddenly it hit him:

She'd just saved his life.

"Thank you," he murmured breathlessly, stroking her hair as she cried. A pang of guilt snuck into his gut as memory of the transport came back to him. "I… I probably should've led with that."

Despite herself, Mila barked out a laugh. Poe smiled and nuzzled into her hair. Finally the medic pulled back to look at him, her face and eyes red and swollen. Gingerly he wiped her tears away.

He wanted to say something, but he couldn't. No words came to him. He was completely in awe of her, in awe of what she had done for him. Of what it would cost her. He couldn't wrap his head around it.

A weak smile quivered across Mila's face as she slowly bent and kissed him. She rested her forehead against his, beyond relieved to be feeling his touch. To be hearing his voice.

She'd done it. She'd  _actually_   _done it_.

"I love you," he whispered.

Another sob – this time a happy one – scratched at Mila's throat. "I love you, too," she hoarsely replied.

She watched his eyes wander across her body – his fingers drift to the bruises blackening her throat and the scratches on her face, his neck crane to see the blaster hole in the top of her right shoulder. Poe's brow wrinkled worriedly.

"Holy kriff, Mila."

"Don't worry about me, baby," Mila reassured. "It's nothing anybody on this cruiser hasn't fixed a thousand times before."

"Then go get it fixed," Poe pleaded. "You've gotta take care of yourself, too."

"I can't leave you."

Poe squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I'll be fine here by myself for a few minutes, I promise."

BB-8 suddenly warbled from the corner and rushed to his master's side. Poe chuckled. "Between him and the med droids, I'm good to go, huh?"

Hesitantly, Mila nodded. "I-I guess you are."

"Then go get fixed up. You'll feel better once you do."

Mila stood and sighed. Poe smiled at her.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he soothed. "I'll be fine. Go."

Slowly Mila backed up, turned around, and disappeared behind the door. BB-8 beeped.

"Yeah, buddy," Poe replied. "I've actually got an assignment for you."

The little droid rolled a bit closer, looking up at his master expectantly. Poe winced a little bit as he reached down and touched his old friend's dome.

"Go find the others."


	33. Sunrise

_Chapter 33: Sunrise_

How had it come to this?

They had told her to trust them, to go to them if there was ever a problem or if she ever had a doubt about anything, and they would always have ears to listen. Hearts to empathize with. Power to fix, to protect, to  _heal_. They promised to look after her – that's what leaders  _did_ , at least the good ones – and to keep her best interests and the best interests of her men, her friends, at the forefront.

Why had they lied?

As the bright white of the cruiser's stark walls assaulted her vision, Karé grappled with the question. Defeat – an all-consuming, sickening dread – oozed into her frazzled brain. Command told all of its soldiers they could trust them; even more terrifyingly, the Senate convinced its constituents that  _they_  could trust them. They swore oaths to uphold the Republic, to protect the rights of every citizen no matter what the cost, not unlike the oath she and her fellow Rapiers had repeated the day of graduation.

How in the worlds could they ignore her when the safety of the people they claimed to serve – to love, even – teetered on the edge of annihilation?

Karé stared at her feet as she shuffled out, stuck somewhere between wanting to scream and wanting to sob. She could hardly breathe. She couldn't let herself think anymore; that only hurled her farther down into the pit her shaken trust – her grief – had thrown her into.

Interstellar orange moved in her peripheral. Karé glanced up, and her heart sank.

"What'd they say?" Iolo asked hurriedly, his pale face nearly faded colorless from fear. "What're they gonna do?"

Karé's face wrinkled into a disgusted simper. "What do you  _think_ , Lieutenant Arana?" she bit out.

Iolo's shoulders dropped; he panted like the wind had been knocked out of him. He put his hands on his hips, nodding with a furrowed brow as he tried to process what he'd just heard. Muran gaped.

"I don't believe it," he rumbled.

"At this point, Four," Karé scoffed, "we should have seen it coming."

Silence corroded the air. Karé's dark eyes again sank to the floor.

"So…" Iolo hesitantly started. "They… they're just… they're not going to—"

"Lift a kriffing finger," Karé curtly cut him off. "Yes, Iolo. You are correct." She paused, fumbling for words as they formed on her tongue. "Lonno lost his  _best damn pilot_. And not even he is questioning things."

"What the hell? Why? Didn't you… didn't you—"

" _Tell_  him, Iolo?" Karé snapped. "Yes, I did! I stood in front of him and rattled off every kriffing detail, and he looked me in the eye and said I was  _lying!_ "

Iolo's mouth fell open. Karé fought to compose herself and failed.

"Why?" she asked, tear-glassed eyes rising to the ceiling in despair. "Why, Iolo! What do they gain? Don't they get their  _own_  lives are at stake?"

Iolo shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Karé overran him.

"We've lost too many. Our closest friends were all  _murdered_  by these… these  _terrorists_  – not to mention a few thousand others – and the Senate  _doesn't give one flying kriff!_  We're expendable! They'll send us all off to die before—" She squeezed her eyes shut and sighed in an attempt to ground herself. "They saw the Empire fall, Iolo. Some of them saw it rise.  _Why_  do they refuse to see it happening  _again_?"

Her voice had lowered to a wounded whisper. In an attempt to comfort his long-time friend, Iolo gently laid a long-fingered hand on her shoulder. Karé sighed shakily.

"He would know what to do," she whispered.

"I know, Karé."

"He always had a better handle on this than any of us."

Iolo's grip tightened. "And he trusted you to fill his shoes should he ever not be here."

"If the Senate was doing their job," Karé tearfully growled, "he'd be here doing it himself. And… and I would be standing here  _failing_  you."

Iolo started to pull her in for a hug. His voice softened. "Hey, Rapier One—"

" _Don't! Call me that!"_  The riled words echoed through the halls before she fully realized she'd said them, before she realized she'd shoved Iolo away and retreated a few steps backwards. Guilt burned deep in her face when she caught Iolo's expression.

"It's… that's not me," she fumbled. "It's—It's…."

Karé couldn't fight it any longer. She crumpled forward as the sobs she'd struggled to hold back finally burst through. Iolo rushed to her side and rocked her in his arms, angry tears of his own streaming down his face. He felt Muran's hand on his shoulder and grabbed it.

"I can't do this!" Karé howled into his flight suit. "I… I can't—"

Iolo didn't know how to respond – nothing he could say could soothe her, he knew – so he only held her closer and clamped his eyes shut. Muran's fingers dug into Iolo's shoulder; his palm shook as he tried to hold himself up.

Karé was right. Without Poe, how  _could_  they go on?

Something slipped into earshot above the pounding in Iolo's ears. Something he  _knew_  he had to have been imagining. Karé scoffed loudly in his arms.

"And now I'm hearing things," she sniffed.

Iolo's brow furrowed. He opened his eyes and quietly gasped.

"No, you're not," he said.

His grip relaxed. Hesitantly Karé turned around, and a shaking hand went to cover her mouth and stopped short. She blinked once. Blinked again.

What she saw – who she saw – was real.

"BB…BB-8?"

The little droid rolled up in front of her and looked up at her expectantly. Gaping in disbelief, she reached out and brushed his soot-stained dome with her fingertips.

"You…" she started. "How did you—"

BB-8 suddenly cut her off. He warbled insistently. Excitedly. Karé's brow furrowed as she turned and looked at the others.

"He wants us to follow him."

* * *

They walked through the cruiser for what felt like hours. Karé wondered how the droid had escaped, and if his experiences had addled his circuitry as he wandered in front of them, as he sped ahead of them, stopped and turned back to look at them like an eager child when they fell behind.

They rounded a corner, and Karé was certain he'd lost his wits.

He'd led them to the medical center.

Karé sighed hopelessly. She wasn't in the mood to pick a fight with an astromech in the middle of a crowded room, so without seeing the point, she kept following, the others not far behind her. They wound through more hallways and past the crowds and into a quieter section, which Karé recognized as an intensive care unit.

After several minutes, BB-8 stopped in front of an open door, turned back to face them again, and rolled in. Karé exchanged glances with Iolo, who was equally as confused.

Neither of them dared hope for the miracle they so badly wanted to see on the other side… and the fear that it was or wasn't there effectively froze them both in place. Karé swallowed.

"Go," Iolo gently urged.

Finally Karé worked up the courage to peer through the threshold, and the second she did, her sobbing started anew. But these weren't tears of grief, or anger, or despair.

These were tears of unparalleled joy.

" _Poe!"_

Poe weakly smiled at her and lifted an arm. "C'mere, Karé."

Completely in disbelief, Karé stumbled across the room and practically fell into her old friend's arms. Poe gently rubbed her back as she cried.

"Sorry about your promotion—"

Karé laughed out loud. "I've never been so happy to get demoted in my  _life!"_

She heard him chuckle – felt him weakly peck her on the cheek as he had a thousand times before – and she finally sat up, smiling so wide her entire face hurt. Iolo pushed past her and hugged his commanding officer as well as he could without hurting him further. Karé laughed again from sheer joy as she looked on.

"We thought we'd lost you for good, sir," the Keshian said through a tearful smile.

Poe clapped him on the back. "You thought wrong, buddy," he feebly replied. The pilot's weary gaze shifted to Rapier Four. "Hey, Muran."

" _Damn_  you."

A strained laugh rasped from Poe's still smiling lips as he embraced his wingman. Muran had never been much of a hugger – out of all of them, he coveted his space the most – but his embrace now was near bone-crushing. Poe returned it as best as his battered body could.

"Good to see you too, pal," he whispered.

Muran laid a hand on Poe's shoulder. Though unreleased tears reddened his swollen eyes, he was grinning through it. They all were.

"We… we saw the crash, Poe," Karé stammered. "The explosion. You should be dead. How did you… how did you—"

A light twinkle in his dark eyes, Poe nodded towards the door behind them. Karé turned and followed the shadow that softly jutted across the floor to its owner: another battered soldier, who sported several green, splotchy bruises across her face and neck, a thick bandage around the top of her right arm, and exhaustion too deep for words.

Mila.

As soon as the medic saw them, whatever had been in her hands – Karé didn't know what it was – fell to the ground. Without saying a word, they took several quick steps forward and threw their arms around each other. Mila tightly shut her eyes as tears leaked down her cheeks.

Finally Karé pulled back and looked at her, her expression thanking her and demanding an answer for her actions all at once.

"I couldn't just leave him," Mila said simply. Like it was an undisputed fact. Karé didn't know how to respond.

Judging from the bruising, the bandage, from the cuts and scrapes that zigzagged across her face and hands, from the raggedness of her voice, she had walked through hell to save him… and she had just narrowly come back out again.

Stiffly – the exertion she'd forced her body through had finally caught up to her – Mila embraced Iolo and Muran, who, like Karé, beamed with weeping eyes. None of them had the words. Anything they possibly could have said or done that remotely resembled a "thank you" would never be enough repayment.

Mila pulled back and glanced around the room like she had misplaced something. Her swollen eyes grew wide with fear.

"Where's Kit?" she begged.

Karé's stomach knotted. She tried to respond, but as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, unwelcome sobs overtook her again. Iolo stared at the floor; Muran balled his hands into angry fists.

Mila shook her head, fighting the realization that was donning on her. "No," she protested, looking between them. "No, you just haven't found him yet. He's gonna walk through that door—"

" _Mila_."

There was no space in Poe's voice for hope. Poe frailly took her hand. Mila braced herself.

"He's gone, sweetheart."

Mila's breath choked in her lungs.

_What?_

He wasn't gone. He  _couldn't_  be gone.  _She'd saved his life!_

"No," she whispered, shaking her head.

Poe's grip on her hand tightened. She felt Karé wrap her arms around her from behind. The invisible wounds she'd only just found the strength to bind all reopened at once. Tears completely blinded her.

Kit really was gone.

Mila coughed between sobs. The others' silhouettes swam in her flooded vision. She'd been able to save him once before, yes, but that didn't matter now.

She wondered if it mattered at all.

* * *

When Karé commed him and told him that Mila and Poe were both alive, Calo hadn't believed her. When he'd rounded the corner in the medcenter and BB-8 had rushed to meet him, he thought he was hallucinating.

Now, as the light of Hosnian Prime's golden atmosphere engulfed the once darkened hospital room in front of him – as it kissed his sister's bruised face and warmed his commanding officer's paled skin nearly back to its intended complexion – he found he had been utterly wrong, and he couldn't have been happier about it.

"Mila," he smiled, coming up next to the bed she sat on and gently hugging her shoulders from behind. holding on long enough to make sure she was really real.

Her gaze distant, Mila weakly laid a hand on his arm in response. "Hey, bud," she managed.

He felt her look down at the man safely cradled in her arms. Calo swallowed.

"How is he?"

She didn't give him an answer, so Calo searched for one himself. Poe's chest steadily rose and fell underneath the extra blanket Mila had draped over him; his head rested in the crook of her elbow.

He wasn't an expert, but it didn't look good.

Mila's eyes hadn't left his face for a second. Though it broke him to see her like that, Calo found his heart exploding a bit.

She'd never looked at someone like that. And he wasn't even  _awake_.

"You…" he started tremulously. "You really love him, sis. Don't you?"

Mila numbly nodded. He saw the worry writhing all over her face, but there was something else. Something deeper. Calo sighed. What he said next didn't come easy, but he knew she needed to hear it:

"Mila… Mila, if he… if he doesn't make it, you  _can't_  blame yourself—"

"He's not gonna die, Calo."

The suddenness of her declaration – the raw sureness of it – took Calo aback. One of Mila's shaking hands brushed a stray, dark brown wave from Poe's face.

"I'm not gonna let him," she whispered.

Landing gear vibrated the floor under Calo's feet as it deployed. He peered out the window.

He was home.

He wanted to be relieved, but he wasn't sure he could be.

Out of all of Echo Squadron, why did it have to be  _him_  standing there? Why was he chosen? He was no better than Tover or Varsha, no better or more qualified than any of the others. Why did he get to step off that gangplank?

He looked over his shoulder at the Rapiers, who were slowly packing up behind him. None of them had showered; Karé hadn't even brushed out her long blonde hair. They had all collapsed around their fallen CO, and he didn't think any of them had it in them to leave him for even a second. They definitely looked worse for wear.

He saw it in their eyes that none of them cared.

Mila lightly tapped her brother's arm. "We're gonna need to move soon," she croaked. "It's gonna get busy. You might wanna step back."

She definitely didn't want him to – she hadn't gotten to properly hold her baby brother or even really  _see_  him, to check up on him and anchor him as he told her his troubles – but her frazzled mind desperately screamed for space, and as try as she might, she couldn't overpower it. She felt Calo lightly kiss the top of her head before his arm dropped from her shoulders.

 _Don't go,_  a voice weakly begged within her.

"Bacta's ready to go, ma'am." She hadn't even heard Darren enter. "We just gotta get him in it."

Mila nodded, her swollen eyes drifting back to her boyfriend's face.

_Breathe, baby. Just breathe…_

Darren didn't ask her to move as he maneuvered the bed through the door and out into the hallway, and Mila was grateful for it. The hallways streamed past her like fog. Not even the busy din of the people around her made it to her ears. As they neared the gangplank – as the space opened up and fresh, morning air streamed up her nose – Mila didn't watch where she was going. She hardly noticed.

She couldn't turn away from his face.

"Lot of people've come to meet us outside, Lieutenant," Darren gently informed her. She swore she heard a smile in his voice. "Good to know we're not alone."

Mila fearfully recoiled at the thought, though she couldn't quite explain why. Her mind raced.  _How many? Are they in the way?_

 _They're not going to_ crowd _us, are they?_

* * *

People. More people. Lots of people. Lots of  _holoreporters._

Karé could have killed them all with her bare hands.

With a white-knuckle grip on her helmet, she all but stalked down the gangplank. Her feet touched permacrete. Boiling resentment kept her from being as relieved as she thought she ought to be.

She could already see the cameras, the recorders. The questions hanging in the air, all of which were about to dive towards her and the other survivors like mynocks towards power cables. She did  _not_  have the patience. Not now.

As they neared the medcenter, the crowd closed in around them. Karé swore she saw Mila flinch; the Rapier nearly did herself, but not out of panic.

She drew herself back to keep from breaking someone's neck.

"Lieutenant!" a familiar voice called over the crowd. Karé ignored it, didn't even try to pair a name with it.

"Lieutenant Kun!"

Finally she placed it, and she immediately wished she hadn't. Scowling, she turned to face its owner.

Ro-Kiintor.

Karé nearly snarled. How  _dare_  him.

Holocams flanked the Senator on all sides, every one of them trained on his face. On  _her_. Anyone watching would have mistaken his expression – the expressions of the other Centrist Senators around him – for sympathy.

Karé knew better.

"Lieutenant Kun," he started, softening his tone for maximum effect. He even took her hand. "Please accept our  _sincerest_  condolences for—"

Karé's eyes flashed.

_Sincerity!?_

She forcefully snatched her hand away.

" _Murderers,_ " she vehemently spat. That probably made her look bad.

She didn't give a damn.

* * *

 _Just ignore them,_  Mila tried to console herself.  _You'll be inside in a matter of seconds. They're not going to hurt you. Just—_

She caught the eye of a holoreporters trying to close in on her – she saw him glance towards the broken body in her arms – but the heated glare she sent his way made him rethink his decision. Her grip tightened around Poe. A trembling hand combed through his hair.

"Almost there, flyboy," she whispered, and kissed his clammy forehead. "Almost there…."

Craning her long neck across the flight line, Mila tried to size up the distance. One hundred standard meters at least. She gritted her teeth.

The crowd wasn't going anywhere; if anything, it was growing by the second. Nervous chills slithered down Mila's spine; any longer, and they'd send her into full-fledged panic.

Didn't they see the man she held was  _dying?_

Her eyes darted across the flight line, across the people, the cameras… and fixed, for some reason, on the New Republic flag that steadily streamed out in the morning breeze.

The second she saw it, it lowered. They weren't taking it  _down_ , were they?

Halfway down the pole, it stopped. Tears glinted in Mila's eyes. She already had enough of a reminder of what she'd lost.  _Who_  she's lost. She didn't need another one.

She nearly looked away.

The sunrise – brand new light, not yet exposed to the length of the day – seeped through the flag's wrinkles, glowed through the old Alliance Starbird in its center like a warm ember. Despite the dark color – the fade in the thick fabric – the light still streamed through. It warmed Mila's body to the bone, shone on the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

When she finally tore her gaze away – for some reason it had mesmerized her – Mila looked back into the crowd which, though still tainted with the occasional holoreporter, was mostly made up of soldiers. Some sported bandages; others, nothing besides the clothes on their backs. Some watched the flag, some watched the others as the marched past.

Most, however, watched her. And only her.

Mila wished they would look away.

The morning light glinted against the bottom of a crutch. Mila found herself following it up to the person who leaned on them. Her damaged feet had been thickly wrapped in burn bandages, and she all-together was weary.

But still, she smiled.  _Gratefully_  smiled. Her eyes twinkled with admiration. She turned to the older man and woman who stood with her and nodded in Mila's direction.

"That's her," she saw the girl whisper.

Mila's breath caught in her throat. The girl from the mess hall. She'd made it. That was her. And around her—

Around her stood the others. The others who the First Order had trapped. The others who Mila and her men had rescued. The young Zabrak pilot who had rescued  _her._  They all stood together. They all grieved. They all understood.

And they all knew the truth. Their suffering – Mila's own suffering – as bleak as it was, sparked to life a thousand fires.

Maybe there was hope after all.

Mila softly gasped as she quietly wept. She hardly moved, but the small jolt in her body – combined with the quiet brightness of the sun – had been enough to startle him awake. He inhaled sharply; his eyes squinted open. Mila rushed to calm him back down.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice trembling. Through her tears, she managed a small smile.

A hopeful smile.

"We're home."

As suddenly as he had awoken, Poe relaxed. Though the pain from his wounds encapsulated his weakened body, he reached up and gingerly wiped Mila's tears away. Mila's heart swelled.

Before she could stop herself, she stooped and pressed her lips to his, silently begging him to hang on. She cradled his hand against her face.

"You're okay," she reassured. "We're almost there. Focus on me, baby." She sniffled. "You'll be okay."

Poe feebly nodded. He searched her face, though it was merely inches from his own, and struggled to speak. Mila leaned down so she could hear him.

"So will you."

* * *

After far too long of a wait, they finally rolled inside, and Mila finally got her patient into a well-managed bacta tank. She knew she didn't have to stand watch over him, but she couldn't tear herself away. She needed to rest – if Poe were awake, she figured he would have begged her to get some sleep by now – but Mila couldn't.

Everywhere she turned, everywhere she looked, she still expected to see a Stormtrooper with a loaded blaster. She expected to see the agent. The demon from the Command center. They lurked around every corner, thrived behind her closed eyes.

If she tried to sleep, she'd bring them back again.

Despite her exhaustion, that alone was enough to keep her.

Maybe she just needed to wind down, she told herself. This had been her first major battle. She needed to cut herself some slack.

It would wear off with time. She just needed to give it a few hours.

 _Fool_ , a voice hissed from inside.  _You can't get rid of it. You'll_ never  _get rid of it._

Her tired eyes wandered back to the bacta tank. She sighed shakily.

 _And good luck hiding it from_ him.


	34. Do You Know Who I Am?

_Chapter 34: Do You Know Who I Am?_

No matter how hard he fought, Poe couldn't escape the pain, and he couldn't ignore it. He couldn't even place where it began; it's heat radiated through his every last nerve like a strong electric shock. His head pulsed. He moaned. He shook the bonds of his unconsciousness, and a bit to his bewilderment, he broke them. His eyes flickered open; the harsh hospital lights poked a bantha prod between his brows, making his face scrunch in protest before he worked up the energy to take in his surroundings.

Apparently, he hadn't dreamed the landing. But that fog was the last thing he remembered. He found Mila sitting in a chair by his side, her sweet gaze fixed on his. Through the weight in her eyes, she managed a smile.

"There you are," she whispered, leaning down to kiss his forehead. A weary grin involuntarily shot across Poe's face as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"How long have I been out?" he asked.

"A month."

Poe's eyes bugged. It had been that long? How much had he missed?

"We needed to convince your body to put itself back together," Mila explained softly. "We asked it  _nicely_  when we initially got back, but it just didn't want to listen."

His brow furrowed worriedly, Poe searched Mila's face, asking another question without forming the words. Mila read the cue.

"They're okay, flyboy," she reassured. "Karé's hardly left you. She and the others set up camp in here the night we got back, and they haven't moved. Look."

She nodded towards the other side of the room. Three cots hugged the wall, all with the blankets immaculately drawn up and with duffel bags stored underneath. A smile tugged at Poe's mouth.

"You really think they'd leave you through this?" Mila asked rhetorically, finding his hand and taking it in her own. "Dewbacks would fly first."

Poe chuckled, and the sound was honey to Mila's ears. She felt his grip on her hand tighten.

"How've you been, sweetheart?"

Mila's eyes dropped. She could have told him she'd hardly slept at all since they returned, that when she did the nightmares returned so forcefully it took her at least an hour to convince herself that the fiends in the dream weren't actually there.

 _But they had been_.

She could have told him that she'd thought she seen Stormtroopers running down the stairs at her only half an hour ago, that the feeling that someone wanted to kill her hadn't left her body. Part of her doubted it ever would. She could have told him about the fear. The pain. The guilt. All of it.

But she didn't.

She didn't, because of what she was certain would happen if she did. She already felt alone, sucked into the vacuum of the destructive secret she carried with her with no visible way out. If she bared her damaged soul to him, Mila was convinced she would be trapped there forever. It'd be too heavy a burden for anyone to carry.

He'd leave.

Nothing good stayed for people like her.

The smile that strained across Mila's face was as forced as her reply:

"Good." She even nodded for effect. "I'm glad to see you awake."

She could see it in his eyes that Poe didn't buy it for a second. He knew her too well –she started to wonder if he knew her better than she knew herself – but he didn't push it. Mila silently thanked him for it.

"I thought for a while I'd have to operate again," she hesitantly went on. "With the battalion surgeon gone… that would have been tough."

Poe blinked. "You lost Sundar, too?"

Mila hastily nodded. "It was quick," she sighed out, and she almost sounded dismissive. "Nothing I could do."

By the drone in her voice, Poe knew this wasn't the first time she'd told herself that.

"Besides," a ghost of a smile faded across Mila's face. "I had orders to follow.  _His_  orders. His last ones."

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Poe whispered, running his thumb across her knuckles soothingly. "I know he meant a lot to you."

Mila fell silent, and her grip on Poe's hand tightened. Worry ate away at her resolve like a cancer; he could see it all over her face, and he could see how hard she was hoping he wouldn't.

"You hear any more about your charges?" he asked.

Mila sighed shakily. She didn't look at him.

"On the general's desk now." She leaned her temple against two fingers. "Baby, it… it could go Senate level."

Poe's heart sank to his toes.

"I'm going to see Antilles tomorrow morning," she went on. "I'll find out then."

Any words of encouragement were dashed from Poe's mouth. No one came out of a Senate-level court martial with their command intact. No one _._

"I don't regret anything I did, Poe," Mila started. "Don't you dare think that. This isn't your fault—"

"Mila," he softly cut her off. Finding he had the strength to lift his arms, he reached up and gingerly ran his fingers down the length of her jaw. He searched her worried face before she buried it in the side of his hand and placed a kiss on the inside of his palm. He held her there for a moment as his eyes drifted to the holo on the wall behind her.

" _…this is nothing short of a tragedy. Republic Command is yet to release a full casualty list, but from what we have been able to gather, the numbers are high. Senator Erudo Ro-Kiintor is moments away from giving his official statement—_ "

Mila practically snarled at the mention of the Senator's name. Poe wondered what else he had done to earn her disgust.

"— _what we do know about the nature of the attack is scattered at best. Republic forces offered humanitarian aid to the people of Rattatak, an independent world in the Borderlands. Those people, in turn, attacked them, and—"_

"The hell?" Poe whispered. "That's not—"

He was too confused and far too tired to finish. Mila frowned deeply.

"You got a lot to catch up on, flyboy," she said dismally, tearing her eyes from the holo in search of a distraction, something to change the subject.

She glanced across the night stand Karé, Iolo, and Muran had set it up for him when he was still under. Something warmly glinted in the corner of her eye: a ring, far too small for Poe's hand. Mila's brow furrowed. She didn't know how she'd never seen if before, but she hadn't. Curiosity got the better of her, and she reached for it without thinking. But instead of protesting like she realized he might, Poe smiled affectionately as he watched her.

"What's this?" she asked.

Poe sat up on one elbow, and though the gentle expression on his face was hard for Mila to read, she couldn't look away from it. His brow quirked mischievously. "It's a  _ring_ , Mila."

"Laser brain," Mila lightly chuckled, rolling her eyes. "I  _knew_ that." She scrutinized it harder, noted the delicate engraving on the inside. Though she couldn't make out what it said, she had a feeling she knew what it stood for.

"Is this a wedding band?"

Poe nodded, his eyes meeting hers before moving back to the object in Mila's little hand. He smiled wistfully.

"It was Mom's."

A little gasp wavered between Mila's lips. The ring jn her hand – a simple gold band on an even simpler gold chain – suddenly felt a lot heavier, and in more ways than one.

This was the only tangible piece of Shara that Poe had left.

Mila thought about putting it back, but she couldn't follow through. The quivering starts of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was mesmerized.

"Dad found it after the crash," Poe softly explained. "Gave it to me the day we buried her. He wanted me to hold onto it."

Mila's face softened. "Why?"

Poe's hand slipped under hers and gently cradled her knuckles in his palm.

"So… so I could pass it on, when the time came," he whispered. "Once I found the right girl."

Mila's heart fluttered and fell to her toes all at the same time. Maybe he thought he had, and that was the worst part. She loved him more than she could put to words – she knew he returned it – but this was different than anything she thought they would face. The woman she used to be – the one that he fell in love with, the one that fought so desperately to trick herself and everyone else into thinking she was still alive and well – was nearly gone. Sinking under the mire of everything she'd been through, searching for a hand to grasp and yet afraid to take it if it came.

He couldn't know. If all went according to plan, he would never know, and they could move forward together like Rattatak had never happened.

The war in Mila's eyes nearly overshadowed the weary smile on her face. Her gaze returned to the table, drifting across its contents and stopping on a framed flat holo. Her brow furrowed.

"Is this Yavin Four?"

Poe nodded. "Yep." He smiled softly as Mila took the frame in her hands and scrutinized the scene – a small ranch house tucked away in a rainforest, shrouded by mountains and basking in the glow of the dying day's light. Her expression gentled. Pined.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

"It's sticky," Poe grinned.

Mila chuckled, but her gentle laughter faded nearly as soon as it began.

"It looks so quiet," she said. Her eyes pooled yearningly as she ran a finger down the side of the frame. "Peaceful."

"It is," Poe replied, his hand finding hers again and taking it in his own. "Once all this sithspit calms down, I'll have to take you there. Hunker down for a while."

Despite herself, Mila started to smile. "And do what?"

"I dunno," Poe grew thoughtful as he spoke. "Start a family?"

Mila laughed – a real laugh, Poe noted, and the first one he'd heard since he woke up. "You've gotta ask me something first, flyboy," she giggled.

"I know." A bright grin warmed Poe's face, danced in his eyes like starlight. He glanced at the ring that was wrapped in Mila's fist.

"What would you say?" he asked, his face softening.

The starts of an intrigued smile parted Mila's lips. Her brow wrinkled questioningly. Poe's tender grin returned.

"If I really asked you," he wondered, "what would you say?"

Mila's eyes twinkled. "I'm not gonna tell you that," she said mischievously, standing from her chair and sitting on the edge of his bed. "It'd take the fun out of it."

She leaned forward and slowly kissed him, a radiant smile lighting her face from within once she pulled back. "But I think you know."

Poe found himself grinning. Whatever deep-seated exhaustion or worry or whatever it had been that had plagued Mila's gaze only moments beforehand had nearly disappeared, as far as he could tell.

 _She's okay_ , he told himself, and for the first time that day he believed it.  _Just tired_.

"So," he started, happy to see Mila perking up again. "How long are you gonna have me back he—"

The door suddenly hissed open, and a winded med cadet halfway stumbled through the threshold. He stopped, mopping a gangly hand through his sandy hair as he tried to catch his breath. Mila jettisoned to her feet – unusually quick, Poe noted. Like she'd been startled, but there was nothing there to startle her… was there?

"Lieutenant Criss," the cadet fumbled. "Someone here to see you, ma'am. Said it was urgent."

Mila observed him unsurely. The cadet's apprehensive eyes stayed fixed on her.

"Intel back from Rattatak, ma'am. Said you needed to know."

The little gleam of light in Mila's eyes had flickered back out again. Poe's stomach knotted as he watched her stand, watched her freeze in the doorframe and look at him over her shoulder before she went out into the hallway. BB-8 warbled nervously.

"I don't know, buddy," Poe sighed, sitting up a little straighter so he could watch Mila through the observation window that looked out into the busy hallway. Through the passing people he spotted Calo, standing next to who Poe knew had to have been Damien. The two brothers embraced her at once. Poe wondered what had brought them there.

From the wrinkle in between Calo's brows alone, he knew it couldn't be good.

Damien's calloused hands found Mila's little shoulders and held them fast, support beams against what Poe could tell would soon be a crumbling wall. Poe noticed tears welling in Calo's eyes. The Rapier couldn't see what they were looking at, but it sent his heart straight to his toes.

 _No_ , he saw Mila's lips form the word. She shook her head, and all color drained from her face as the whites of her eyes reddened.  _Stop_.

Poe saw her buckle a little bit, like whatever she'd just seen or heard had socked her in the gut. Damien's grip tightened. Poe clenched his teeth, searching the scene frantically for what had caused her distress, wishing he could stand up, walk to her, and calm her storm himself. Stuck in the bed, all he could do was wait.

He'd never felt so trapped.

Finally, the culprit walked into the frame. A tall, well-built soldier, decked out in his dress greens and high-ranking, whoever he was. He had something in his hands, but the windowsill kept Poe from seeing what it was. He may not have noticed it in the first place even if he could have seen it; his eyes were locked on the patch on the soldier's shoulder.

250th Pathfinders.

"Oh, no…."

The Pathfinder handed the mystery object to Mila, who stared at it hollowly, petrified in place. After several long seconds, Poe saw her mouth a thank you. The Pathfinder – his face nearly as stricken as hers was – laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, nodded apologetically, and left.

Overwhelmed, Mila didn't look up. Didn't move, hardly blinked, hardly breathed. After a few minutes she slowly turned towards his hospital room door, the rage and the heartbreak and the lost hope that floundered in her eyes nearly stopping Poe's heart.

He knew what she would say when he asked. He wasn't ready to hear it. Still he steeled himself.

That wall  _was_  falling. And he'd be damned if he didn't try to hold it back up.

The door hissed open and shut. Poe heard Mila gasp, almost like she was coming up for air.

"Mila?" he softly called.

Her footsteps tapped the tile as she came around the corner. The tears that she'd fought so hard to hold back poured down her face. He could see her shaking. She wordlessly, lifelessly stared at the object the Pathfinder had given her.

A folded, New Republic flag.

Mila finally raised her eyes to his, her crushed spirit begging him for help without making a sound.

"Jaren," she stammered.

Barking sobs strangled her body. Poe's heart shattered.

"C'mere," he whispered, holding an arm up for her to crawl under. He started to wince as he scooted over, but he stopped himself.

He didn't care how bad it hurt him. She  _needed_  him. Now.

Hardly able to breathe, Mila stumbled to him and fell into his arms, the sound of her soul shattering digging at his ears as her tears soaked his shirt. She held onto the flag almost as tightly as she held onto him.

"I could have stopped him!" she cried. "I-I  _should_  have—and then he wouldn't be—"

"This isn't your fault, Mila," Poe tried to soothe, stroking her hair and holding her as close to him as he possibly could. "Don't you dare think it is."

She clung to him and shook. Poe felt heat rising in his own eyes.

"You can only blame the guy with the gun," he whispered.

Mila fought to catch her breath and coughed. "They won't tell us how he died," she stammered lividly. "They know, but they won't  _tell_  us! How many others have they kept the truth from?"

It was rare that Poe found himself at a loss for words, but this marked twice in less than an hour that he'd come up short. Nothing he could say would soothe her – this wasn't something he could just fix – so he took her hand in his, held her close, and decided to just be there. It was the best he could do, the best he could think of. After a while – Poe didn't know exactly how much time had passed, but the sun had gone down outside – Mila quieted and went still, and her breathing evened out.

She'd fallen asleep.

Softly Poe brushed his hand across the top of her hair and kissed the side of her head. She needed the rest, and he was more than happy to let her have it. Solemnly he turned back to the holo.

"— _though most of the survivors have resigned their commissions. Republic Command estimates well over two hundred soldiers have mustered out. There is no information on where exactly they have gone—_ "

Poe almost scoffed. Was it really that hard for them to admit it? He'd heard the rumors.  _Everyone_  had heard the rumors. Ever since Senator Organa left the Senate several years prior, they'd been flying in every direction. He hadn't quite believed them at first, but after Daxam IV – and even more so now – he did. With every fiber of his being. He had to. Those rumors let him know he wasn't alone, restoring something in him that had recently been in very short supply:

Hope.

He looked down at the woman in his arms. It wouldn't be long before both of them had "inexplicably disappeared," too. Along with the remaining Rapiers.

Above all, Poe wondered what was holding them back.

His door hissed open, but he didn't acknowledge it at first. The footsteps were far too light for flight boots. It couldn't have been any of the Rapiers – he didn't know where they were – though he desperately wanted to see them. He knew Mila could use that, too.

Finally he looked up, and what he saw surprised him.

"Major Deso?"

Deso nodded and smiled a little. "It is good to see you awake, Commander. Can I come in?"

Poe shrugged a little. "Of course."

A bit hesitantly Deso came towards him. "You gave us one hell of a scare. There were a couple of times we thought we'd lost you. Lieutenant Kun was prepared to send your final transmissions out." Deso genuinely smiled as he patted Poe's shoulder; relief swarmed his gaze. "Good thing she didn't have to."

Poe nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, sir."

There was a heavy silence before Deso spoke again. "Command's sent a recovery team back to Rattatak," he said solemnly. Poe looked up at him in disbelief. "They're treading  _lightly_ , but Antilles wanted to bring everybody home that he could. They're looking for Echo. Looking for Kit. I thought you should know."

"I'll tell the others when they get back," Poe replied, shocked.

Deso nodded, again falling silent. He almost looked guilty, but Poe had no idea what would make the major – usually a stoic man – carry himself that way. He must have missed it while he was under, and that created more questions than it answered. Added more to the list that had sprawled across his brain since the second he regained consciousness. Poe found himself tensing without knowing why. He saw Deso move out of the corner of his eye, and when the major finally spoke again, the tone of his voice was far more personable than normal:

"She yours, Poe?"

A smile involuntarily shot across Poe's face. "Yeah," he replied, looking down at Mila, who was still sound asleep.

"She must be worried."

"She is." Poe's grip around Mila's shoulders tightened. "It's been… rough, to put it lightly. She's… she's lost a lot."

The concern in Deso's eyes washed over the rest of his face as he glanced at the flag tucked under Mila's arm. Solemnly he nodded. He watched her for a moment; aside from her chest rising and falling in time with her breathing, she didn't move. All of a sudden his eyes popped.

"Is that…" he started, recognition blooming in his irises. "Lieutenant Criss. She's… I had no idea the two of you were—"

It poked his bruised ribs to do so, but Poe chuckled anyway. "With respect, sir, where have you  _been_?"

Deso smirked, shook his head, and shrugged lightly. He looked back to Mila, and his eyes darkened sadly.

"You heard the allegations?"

Poe nodded, his face falling.

"They're pretty serious," Deso went on. Poe couldn't help but notice the major looked a bit disgusted as he spoke. "I don't know why in hell they were made in the first place."

Poe frowned. "I don't either, sir."

"Wedge is… conflicted," Deso said hesitantly, sitting in the chair that Mila had occupied when Poe came to. "She crossed a bunch of lines to save you, Commander. And the others. He can't ignore that." His gaze wandered to the sleeping medic's tearstained face yet again. "But she  _saved_  you, Poe. And several hundred others. Not to mention Lieutenant Anderon, back in the day."

Grief chipped at Poe's exhausted heart. "A lot's changed since then."

Deso nodded solemnly. "I don't know if she has any idea how much she has done for Rapier Squadron," he continued quietly, looking at a still-sleeping Mila as he spoke. "Hell, for this entire defense fleet. For the New Republic. People like her are what's keeping our heads above water."

He rose and gently put a hand on Mila's shoulder, in much the same way that Poe had seen him do with his pilots. The major spoke again, and Poe swore it was an apology:

"And I hope, for both your sakes, the general remembers that."

* * *

The first thing Mila noticed as she woke up was the crick in her neck. Her eyes slowly cracked open – she expected them to be sore, but they weren't. Her head also wasn't pounding when it definitely should have been. Poe was still holding her hand – stroking her knuckles with his thumb – so she couldn't have dozed off for  _that_ long.

Warm, bright light eased across her face, pooled red behind her recently reshut eyes. Irritated – her body desperately begged for more rest, and she wasn't awake enough to resist it – she snuggled closer to Poe and sighed softly. The scent of fresh caf streamed up her nose—

Her eyes bolted open. She suddenly sat up. That light was  _sunlight_.

It was morning.

"Kriffing hell," she gasped, startled completely awake as her heart rammed against her breastbone. She swung her still-booted feet over the side of Poe's bed and stood so quickly she made herself dizzy.

"Easy, doc," Poe's voice soothingly drifted to her ear. "You've still got time."

Mila verified the chrono on the wall behind her and forcefully sighed with relief. She didn't have as much time as she would like, but she at least wasn't late. She ran a hand through her loose hair. Though they had ebbed a little, nerves still warped her face to a worried frown.

"Did…" she started shakily. "You haven't seen Krell, have you?"

_If she knows I was asleep, Antilles won't have to demote me. I'll already be dead._

Poe shook his head. "Not once. Darren came in around midnight to check on me, but that's it."

Another blaster bolt dodged. Mila tried to get herself to relax, but her overly anxious mind wouldn't let her. Tension balled rigidly between her shoulder blades.

"Right, Rapier Two?" she heard Poe ask.

Karé responded from behind her. "Yep. Didn't even think about moving you, either. He said you looked comfy. He'd've felt bad."

"They were standing watch all night. Swapped out every hour." Poe grinned. "And before you freak out, doc, they made me sleep through all of it."

A ghost of a smile slipped across Mila's mouth, and she nodded appreciatively. Force bless Rapier Squadron, and Darren, wherever he was. She eyed the chrono again. Her relief was short-lived.

"I need to go," she sighed tremulously, putting her head down and hurrying towards the door. Her usually steady hands shaken clumsy under the pressure, she fumbled with the door controls.

"Mila?"

She looked over her shoulder. Poe's eyes were kind as he spoke.

"No matter what happens out there, I've still got your back. And I couldn't be prouder of you."

A soft smile poked through the medic's fearful expression. She picked her foot up over the threshold, the first shaky step into an uncertain future. The door shut behind her.

And as she walked out of the medcenter, she was fully aware that it may have been for the last time.

* * *

" _Lieutenant Criss!_ "

As Mila pushed through the throng of overly-excited holoreporters, she felt like she was under a microscope, every breath, every move under scrutiny. They packed so close to her that her uniform wrinkled against their sides, so close that she could smell one woman's obnoxiously floral perfume, one man's terrible morning breath. All of them calling her name, all of them shoving holorecorders in her face, hoping to garner an answer from who was currently the face of the New Republic's biggest scandal.

The lieutenant didn't acknowledge a single one of them, but Krell tried to acknowledge them all. By the glint in the colonel's eye, Mila got the sick feeling that Krell was enjoying this.

The reporters crammed closer. Mila's brain constantly scanned for an escape route without her permission. And without her permission, it panicked when it couldn't find one. She felt her heart race, her breath quicken.

She hoped to the stars Krell wouldn't notice.

The doors to Republic Command finally appeared in front of her. Dying for some space, Mila reached for the controls.

Another reporter called her name. Something in her tone made Mila pause for a second.

"Lieutenant Criss!"

Mila's jaw set. She flipped up the panel, the controls smooth under her fingertips. She started to punch in her code.

 _Ignore her_.

"Lieutenant, please!" the reporter genuinely sounded desperate. "This has nothing to do with pending charges. I want to know about the morning you landed!"

That was unexpected.

Mila stopped. Turned over her shoulder. She was not in the mood to be harassed, and the glower in her eyes communicated that well. The reporter – a tall Squattaman woman with blue skin and long black hair – retreated back a step.

"Who was the man you were holding?"

Mila huffed in annoyance, angrily turning back to the panel and mashing the controls so hard they stuck to the wall behind them for a split second too long. The door opened.

 _I am not bringing Poe into this_.

She stepped through the threshold, and a little of the pain in her chest alleviated. She found she could breathe a little bit easier, think a little clearer, now that she wasn't surrounded on all sides with no way out. The reporter called her again, but Mila was more than happy to completely ignore her.

She almost shook with fury when Krell answered for her.

"Commander Dameron," the colonel said, and she almost sounded cheerful. "The girl's in love with him."

Mila could have killed her right then and there. She'd probably end this day in stun cuffs anyway. Why  _not_  toss a murder charge into the mix?

 _You take the high road, Mila. You keep your head held high, you keep going, playing by the books and doing your job the best you damn well can. Wait for ego to kill her. Because one day, sis, it will_.

Mila almost smiled.

Jaren.

He'd said that the first time Krell had pulled something, right after Mila had made SpecForces. He promised he'd always have her back. Even from beyond the grave, he still did.

She took a deep breath. For his sake, she'd pull the punches.

She stepped into the turbolift. Krell shut the door and sent them rocketing upwards with the touch of a finger. Aside from the rush of passing air and the whirring of gears and cables outside, it was stiflingly, suffocatingly quiet.

"I wonder how all this must feel to you, Lieutenant?"

Mila stiffened. She wanted to bite back, but Jaren's wise words kept her tongue locked behind her teeth.

"All that work for what's about to be nothing. I know I'll be glad to be rid of you."

 _Good to know the feeling's mutual_. Mila clenched her fists to keep from saying it.

Krell scoffed. "Will you  _ever_  respond when an officer addresses you? If you keep that stony silence going with the general, I know he won't be pleased."

 _Don't. Say. Anything_.

"You know, I think losing Sundar has had its perks."

That murder charge was looking better and better.

"This unit finally has someone who knows what she's doing to lead it. Someone who knows weakness when she sees it." Krell looked straight at her, and Mila froze under the scrutiny. The colonel's voice dropped knowingly.

"Don't think I haven't noticed the change in you, Criss." Krell smirked triumphantly. "I saw you in an empty stairwell the other day. You shied at nothing."

Mila's eyes bugged. Her balled hands started to shake.

_She knows._

Krell had the audacity to chuckle. "Yet something else that makes you unfit. We were all trained to process what we see and move on, and you can't even get through your first battle without completely falling apar—"

" _Why?_ "

The enraged word broke out of Mila's lips before she could hold it back. Her eyes blazed, and she finally turned to face her commanding officer.

"Since the day you met me," she snapped, "you have done  _nothing_  but try to tear me down.  _Why?_ "

Krell stared at her for a few silent seconds. Mila didn't expect to get an answer, so she was shocked when she did.

"I don't like being wrong, Criss," Krell responded coolly. "You have proven me to be on multiple occasions. I don't mean about the First Order. I could care less about that. I mean about  _you_. You were never supposed to amount to anything, yet for some reason Sundar adored you. Trusted you.

"I kept expecting you to die that night. You should have died that night. You and Dameron both. And yet here you are. Not only were you strong enough to survive, but to do so  _recklessly_."

Krell paused and slowly turned to look at her. Mila tensed.

"You are everything that  _I_ was supposed to be, yet somehow never amounted to."

Mila didn't know how to respond, if at all.  _That_  was what it was?

"But none of that matters now," Krell went on. The lift slowed, stopped. "Here you are at your end, the end I always knew you'd come to." She took a menacing step towards Mila, her icy eyes narrowing to condescending slits.

"When you finally get what is coming for you, Lieutenant, tell me how it feels. That's your final order."

She turned and sauntered out into the hallway. Mila took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and followed, her eyes not leaving the sealed office doors in front of her… or the name on the plaque next to them.

If she went down – if this really was it – Antilles was not going to see her falter. More importantly, Krell wouldn't.

After several long minutes, they were invited in. Mila's heart slammed painfully in her chest. She didn't have to see the thin, smug smile growing across Krell's face to know it was there. Her stomach knotted. Trying to distract herself, Mila looked around the room, which was as tastefully decorated as the New Republic Navy would allow it to be. Despite that and its intimidating size – and the massive case of medals perched on the wall behind the long desk in front of her – it was surprisingly warm and welcoming. Personable.

A door in the back corner whistled open, and the call for attention thundered through the air. Mila heard his steps – saw the green of his dress uniform out of the corner of her eye – as she snapped to, but she couldn't work up the nerve to look at him.

"At ease."

Mila clasped her hands behind her back and stood with her feet shoulder width apart. Finally she raised her gaze, and General Antilles was looking straight at her.

Two burly soldiers came in behind him. One had stun cuffs. Mila swallowed.

"Lieutenant Criss," Antilles started, his voice calm and steady and far more amiable than she expected it to be. "I've spent the past month looking over some pretty serious charges from your superior officers."

Mila watched him rattle them off – she had them memorized herself – but the sound of his words went in one ear and out the other.

"I've been wracking my brain over what to do with these," Antilles went on. "They come with some pretty heavy consequences. I've studied the reports, as well. And all of them but one say the same thing."

He came out from behind his desk, and he suddenly seemed realer, smaller, than he had before. The stories that chronicled Rogue Leader's lengthy list of accomplishments made him seem larger than he really was, larger than life itself. Now that she stood in front of him, Mila realized he was the same size as Poe. For whatever reason, that comforted her a little bit.

"You were ordered to rescue roughly five hundred soldiers from our base on Rattatak. According to all of the reports, you carried that order out to the letter. You saved a lot of lives, Lieutenant Criss. Well done."

Mila's brow furrowed.

"Later that same night, you rescued a pilot trapped in the Command center. You not only got him to safety, but performed the operation that saved his life. On your own. And it is my understanding that your patient is recovering smoothly."

"Yes sir," Mila replied, and she almost sounded mechanical. "He is."

To Mila's surprise, General Antilles actually smiled.

"That is good to hear, Lieutenant," he said. "On all counts, it sounds like a job well done to me."

"On the surface," Krell eagerly butted it.

Antilles's face darkened. "She is right, Lieutenant. The charges before me are too steep to ignore, and after reviewing the reports again, I have decided to make a few of my own."

Mila's worried eyes wandered to the stun cuffs in the guard's hand. She wouldn't fight him when he put them on.

"You're under arrest for insubordination. Missing movement. Negligence." The general's voice stuck to the last one as if the word had a particularly bitter taste in his mouth. Anger boiled behind his calm blue eyes, a storm brewing on the not-so-distant horizon. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Mila fought to appear collected, but she couldn't have been more confused. Defeated.

_Negligence? How did Krell get to that one?_

"With respect, sir," she said, "I don't regret a single one of my actions."

"And you shouldn't," the general replied almost immediately. Mila was more than a little perplexed.

"Those charges weren't for you, Lieutenant." His calm gaze drifted to Mila's side, hardening tempestuously as it found its intended target. "They were for the  _major_. Arrest her."

Krell recoiled. "What!?"

"Colonel Sundar  _ordered_  you into that mess hall,  _Major_  Krell," Antilles, though still maintaining a completely even keel, was absolutely furious. "I would demote you, but that rank was never yours in the first place. Criss and the rest of the company ran in without a second thought, but  _you_  stayed behind.  _Against orders_."

Krell exploded. "She broke orders –  _my_  orders – to save  _one man!_ "

"And that one man is more important to the morale this navy than you could ever  _dream_  to be."

Krell fell silent. Mila's heart raced.

 _This can't be happening_.

Suddenly terrified, Krell fought for words. "Permission to speak freely, sir."

Antilles raised an annoyed eyebrow. "Permission granted."

Krell threw an accusatory index finger towards a stunned Mila. "She almost got me  _killed_  that night—"

"You were so far removed from the rest of your men, I'm surprised you're even able to make that claim."

"General—"

"You'll stand here and tell me you joined this navy to save lives, yet you were willing to leave a  _grievously_  wounded soldier to die on  _your_  table because it inconvenienced you! It's a damn good thing Lieutenant Criss was brave enough to stay the course, because if she hadn't, one of my best pilots would be dead, and your trial would be a hell of a lot messier than it's already going to be."

Mila could hardly believe what she was hearing. She dared not hold out hope… but it looked like following Jaren's advice was about to pay off.

Krell gaped like a dying fish on a beach. "She is  _reckless_ , General—"

He was standing right in front of the major now. His glare could have destroyed another Death Star.

"Rogue Squadron wasn't exactly known for our discretion, Major, but we  _sure as hell_  got the job done."

"Gen—"

Antilles waved to the guards behind him. "Get this woman out of my office."

"Major Almira Krell," one of the guards started, "you are under arrest for—"

Between Krell's shouts of protest and the pounding of her heart in her ears, Mila didn't hear another word. Relief too great for words flooded her senses. She wanted to gloat or laugh or cry or  _something_ , but she didn't.

She'd take the high road.

Make Jaren proud, one more time.

She hardened her face to stone, straightened her back a little, and stared straight ahead.

"You have won the battle, Criss," Krell thundered, and Mila realized her enraged, thunderstruck bellow was lunging at her from down a hallway. "But you haven't won the war—"

The door slammed shut. She just had.

With everything in her, Mila fought to retain a professional expression. The corners of her mouth twitched incessantly, and she fought to keep them from curling up as they so badly wanted to.

Antilles put a hand on her shoulder.

"C'mon, Lieutenant," he joked, his eyes gleaming in the same way another flyboy's would be once Mila told him about this. "Let 'er rip. You deserve it after all that."

Not only did Mila smile, but she laughed. From relief or victory or sheer shock, she didn't know. Antilles patted her on the back.

"It's been a long time since I shared a room with a soldier like you, Lieutenant. If I'm honest, you remind me of an old friend of mine. And she's a big reason why I reached the decision I did."

"If she's the same caliber as you, sir," Mila fumbled, "then I'll take that as a compliment."

Wedge Antilles smiled. "Of the highest order."

Mila didn't know what to say. There was no way this was happening. She was dreaming the whole thing.

"You're a fine soldier, Lieutenant Criss. It's no wonder Colonel Sundar adored you. You made him very proud that night."

Mila was genuinely touched. "Thank you, sir."

Wedge smiled at her, and Mila found him easier to be around by the second.

"In case you haven't put it together yet," he said favorably, "you're keeping your command."

Mila laughed. Wedge put a still-calloused hand on her little shoulder.

"And I want to personally award you with the New Republic Medal of Honor."

Mila nearly fell over. Her mouth fell open.  _What?_

"After everything you have sacrificed for us, it is the  _least_  I can do."

Mila could hardly breathe. A brand new wave of shock – the weight of a whole new level of responsibility – rocked her so hard it knocked her into a nearby chair.

_Me?_

"I…" she fought to get the words out. "I don't know what to say, sir. I… I don't deserve this—"

"Tell that to the parents whose children you saved." Wedge's eyes glinted warmly. "Up to and including Kes Dameron."

Mila grinned. Wedge chuckled, but after a moment grew silent. Serious. Mila's brow furrowed.

"General?"

To her surprise, he kneeled in front of her and took one of her little, shaking hands in his, looking her right in the eye.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"I know, Mila." He seemed almost fatherly as he spoke. "I know what happened."

The medic's eyes darted unsurely. "Of course you do, General. It's all over the holo—"

"Not that junk. I know the truth."

Mila met his gaze, stunned. "How?"

Wedge almost looked grieved. "Is the word of my own soldiers not good enough anymore?"

Mila stared at him, completely at a loss for words.

"Unfortunately," Wedge went on, "the Senate has my hands just as tightly tied as everyone else's. If it were up to me, we'd have blown those kriffheads to hell years ago."

A small smile found its way to Mila's mouth.

"But it isn't up to me. So officially, I can't help you." His eyes steeled determinedly. "But unofficially? I know someone who can."

The door behind him opened again, but Mila didn't turn to see who had entered immediately. Wedge turned towards the newcomer: a petite woman – no taller than Mila herself – with elegantly braided, greying hair. Despite her size, her presence was tremendous. Mila felt tiny next to her, but it wasn't a bad thing.

"That friend I was talking about," Wedge said, smiling.

Mila watched the woman come towards her. She was startlingly familiar, but Mila hadn't paired a name with her face.

Not yet.

"Lieutenant Criss," the woman said, her kind voice and bravado commanding the entire room the second she opened her mouth. "Do you know who I am?"

Mila studied the woman's face for a moment more.  _Where_  had she—

She looked between the woman and General Antilles. It hit her. Breathless, in awe, she slowly, unbelievingly whispered the woman's famous name.

The name of her greatest hero.

"General Organa."


	35. Beyond the Call of Duty

_Chapter 35: Beyond the Call of Duty_

_General Organa?!_

Mila couldn't believe her eyes. For as long as she could remember she'd kept a collection of names of the people who had inspired her, and she knew their stories to the letter: Amidala. Erso. Mothma. Bey. Versio. All courageous women who had served the greater good in some way. Women who weren't afraid to charge towards the fire while others bolted away from it. Women who weren't afraid to question themselves and everything around them, who weren't afraid to stand up and stare injustice straight in the face, challenge it in a fight to the death, and win.

Organa always had been and always would be at the very top of that list.

The general glided across the room, towing a chair with her that she set in front of Mila and sat in.

"Mila," she started. "I'm going to call you Mila, if that's alright."

Mila's mind and heart both raced at lightspeed. She tried to look the general in the eye but couldn't.

_I should have stood up and saluted. I should have stood up and saluted. I should have stood up and saluted—_

"You  _can_  answer me, if you feel so inclined."

Mila's eyes darted to and away from General Organa's face as she fumbled for a response.

_Say something!_

Finally she pinned her gaze in one spot, to eyes she expected to be narrowed and condescending. In her experience, people in power generally were, but Leia wasn't. She smiled warmly, quirked an eyebrow in motherly amusement. Mila chuckled breathlessly.

"I…" she fumbled. "It's an honor, ma'am. You… you've—"

"Stop," Leia cut her off, but there was no harshness in her voice. "I know what you're going to say. I'm no hero. No legend."

Mila laughed in surprise, shaking her head. "With respect, General, you're not sitting where I'm sitting."

General Antilles chuckled from behind his desk. Leia's expression gentled sadly.

"I'm just another soldier, Mila," she said. "Same as you. I fought for a long time, and for an even longer time I thought I'd never have to fight again. You and I both know why that was foolish."

She looked Mila straight in the eye, and the medic felt the gaze go straight  _into_  her. She started to squirm under it… but felt she couldn't. She didn't want to.

"How much do you know about the Resistance?"

Mila's breath caught in her throat. She had a feeling she knew where this was going.

"Only rumors," she stammered. "They think the First Order could really do some damage, and they want to keep that from happening."

Leia nodded. "More or less. But we do a little more than  _think_  they could. The First Order isn't just an angry mob, or a rag-tag group of complainers stamping their feet. They're a ticking timebomb. The Senate might not want to acknowledge it or do anything to defuse it, but we do. And, as I understand it, so do you."

To Mila's surprise, Leia took her hand.

"I heard about your brother, Mila. I'm so sorry."

Mila's heart clenched and swelled all at the same time. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she forced them back down again. "Thank you," she managed. "That… that means a lot coming from you."

Leia patted Mila's hand. "If he were still alive, I would make him the same offer that I am about to make you. With a few revisions, of course."

Mila's widened eyes met the general's, and Leia went on:

"The Resistance needs all the help it can get. We are in dire need pilots. Techs. Regular infantry. Communications personnel. Intelligence officers. But what we've really struggled to find are good medics. Good surgeons. People to help train up a medical corps, to train Resistance Special Forces. Major Kalonia would love to have you." Leia's eyes twinkled. "Or, I should say, have you  _back_."

Mila smiled fondly. "I haven't seen Harter since the Napkin Bombing," she said, her voice thick with reminiscence. "Since before I joined SpecForces. She… she taught me everything I know." The medic suddenly laughed. "Woke me up after I passed out during my first surgery."

Leia chuckled.

"She was my CO when I was trying to make SpecForces. She encouraged me to keep going. To keep trying to get where I wanted to go until I got there. I wouldn't be here without her."

A smile warmed General Organa's face. "I know she's proud of you. She could really use you. The  _Resistance_  could really use you. Not just because of your resume. No one doubts your skill, but you're not just another face in an army. You have grit, and heart, and drive, and you've inspired it in others. It's a rare soldier that can do that." The general paused and added, "That kind of leadership is something we desperately need, Mila. Consider this my official offer."

Mila's heart thumped hard in her chest. Not for the first time that day, she didn't know what to say. Everything she's suffered through – everything the Senate was trying so desperately to tell her hadn't happened – could  _mean_  something, if she accepted. She could finally  _do_  something about it. But if she accepted – if she left Hosnian Prime with the general now – she would leave so much behind.  _Too_  much behind. Her family, still shaken over Jaren's loss, needed her desperately. She couldn't help but feel like she'd be abandoning them.

She also had a patient to take care of.

"You don't have to answer me immediately," Leia answered the question that marched through Mila's mind without even seeing it. "You don't have to answer me at all. But at least consider it."

She handed Mila a comlink, and a still shaking hand accepted it. Leia put a hand on her shoulder, stood, and moved behind General Antilles's desk.

"That's all I've got for you, Lieutenant. You're dismissed. But think about it."

Mila stood and snapped to a crisp salute. Still breathless, she opened the door and started to go through it.

"Oh, and Mila?"

The medic stopped in the threshold, one foot in the office and one foot in the hallway. Leia put her hands on her hips, her face fixed with a clever grin and infused with a mother's kind glow.

"Tell your flyboy that was  _way_ too close of a call for my liking."

Mila laughed, and her smile seemed to light her from within. Leia's features softened.

"May the Force be with you, Lieutenant Criss," she said. "I hope I see you again."

* * *

The last time Kes Dameron had been on Hosnian Prime, it had been for Poe's Starfleet graduation. Over ten years had passed since then, and Kes had seriously doubted anything would bring him that close to the Core again, not without a good reason. Now, as he wound through the stark white hallways of the New Republic Naval Medcenter, he couldn't have had a more pressing one.

_Where is my son?_

He was a bear of a man – one of Han Solo's legendary Pathfinders, a veteran of the Battle of Endor, and the list went on – a person whose years of experience sat in his eyes, breathed in his words, moved in his steps. Focus, for him, was a reflex, one he was currently thanking the Force for. Kes caught a few passing, wide-eyed glances out of the corner of his eye, noted the astonished whispers of those who recognized him, but he didn't acknowledge them.

Eventually he found the room he was looking for. His stomach twisted itself in knots. Aside from the door opening, he didn't make a sound when he went in. He tried not to move too eagerly or too quickly; if Poe was asleep, he didn't want to startle him.

Kes craned his neck around the wall next to him, and after a solid month of worrying, he finally saw his son. If it weren't for the paleness in his skin or the exhaustion wrought heavily across his sleeping face, he would have looked like himself. Kes knew what Poe had done to get there. And in that moment, he was as angry at and as terrified for and as damn proud of his son as he ever could remember being.

Just as he knew Shara would have been.

Kes lightly laid a hand on Poe's shoulder. The pilot's eyes – a replica of his mother's – flickered open, and as the fog of drugs and confusion drifted from Poe's vision, Kes saw a glimmer of the little boy he'd once been.

No matter how old Poe got, Kes would  _always_  see that.

"Dad?"

Kes smiled. "Hey, hotshot."

Poe looked like he tried to sit up, but thought better of it. "How did you…" A smile of his own gently tugged at his lips. "What are you doing here?"

"My kid fell out of the sky," Kes wryly chuckled, swinging a nearby chair to his son's bedside and lowering himself into it. "Had to make sure you were okay, or your mom would've come back and murdered me."

Poe laughed, and the only time Kes had been more relieved to hear that sound was when he'd come home from his own war all those years ago. A lopsided grin – the only thing that Poe had inherited from him – eased across his face.

"It's good to see you, Poe," he said. "You scared the hell out of me."

"You mispronounced  _us_ , Kes," a voice echoed from behind the wall. Father and son were equally as shocked to hear it.

"L'ulo L'ampar?" Kes murmured, astonished. "Is that you?"

The Duros chuckled, low-timbered and raspy, as he stepped into view. The deep green of his flight suit harkened back to his days of flying with the Rebellion, and for a moment, Kes thought he'd gone back in time. A wide grin stretched across his surprised face as he stood, threw his arms around his old friend and gave him a sturdy clap on the back. The retired Pathfinder was laughing.

"I'll be damned!" he exclaimed, beaming. "Didn't think any of you Resistance jockeys  _got_  leave."

L'ulo smiled, a mischievous shrug in his large red eyes. "Who said I was on leave?"

Uncertainty quirked on Kes's brow. L'ulo – as sharp and as impish and as kindhearted as ever – only simpered in return, and that look alone raised as many questions as it answered. Father and son exchanged glances.

L'ulo snickered triumphantly, having gotten the reaction he was after from both of them. "Classified mission," he finally explained. "I'd tell you if I could." His long-fingered hand dropped from Kes's shoulder as he extended it to Poe. "How're you feeling, son?"

Poe returned the Duros's grasp, though Kes could tell it was not as strong as either of them would have liked.

"Hanging in there, L'ulo." The wounded pilot nodded towards his window, which sported a sprawling view of the flight line and the warm-hued afternoon that poured across it. "Dying to get back."

L'ulo grinned. "Ever your mother's child," he said fondly, ruffling Poe's hair. "She would be proud, son. Real proud."

Poe nodded thoughtfully, appreciatively. His dark eyes wandered to the holo above L'ulo's head, and a smile eased across his weary face. Kes and L'ulo both turned to see what had caught his attention and watched for a moment. General Antilles came to an outdoor podium in the middle of the Memorial Gardens, sober satisfaction thick in his voice as he started to speak. Though his face remained firm and straight, a smile danced in his eyes, traveled on his voice like a cool morning mist:

"… _went above and beyond the call of duty, saving almost five hundred soldiers from certain, brutal death at the hands of a ruthless enemy…."_

The holocams panned to the subject of Antilles's praises: a stern-faced, immaculately turned out Special Forces soldier standing sharply at attention by the general's side. An evac medic, Kes realized. He smiled.

"That's the type I'd want in the trenches with me," he said, no lack of admiration in his voice. "Wish we'd've had something like them back in the old days." His dark eyes didn't leave the holo. "Lot more of my guys could've come home. She's damn brave. They all are." He turned to his son, who was so enraptured in the broadcast that Kes had to repeat his following question twice:

"You hear about her, Poe?"

A smile stretched across Poe's face, gentle and knowing and proud. He nodded.

"I've done a little more than hear about her, Dad."

* * *

Mila hadn't heard a word of Antilles's speech, and she was glad of it. She fought to maintain calm, to rein in the emotion that was welling up inside of her. It wasn't pride. It wasn't excitement. It wasn't anything close to a feeling of accomplishment.

It was guilt, and it was strangling her.

 _I don't deserve this_.

She was vaguely aware of Antilles stepping away from the podium and moving across the stage; she saw the cool white glint of silver in the afternoon sun out of the corner of her eye.

Out of the thousands of people that suffered through the carnage or died on Rattatak, why was  _she_  the one to be recognized? What made her better than any of the others that had run in with her?

What about those who didn't make it back? Where was  _their_  honor?

Why had she even survived in the first place?

Antilles was standing behind her now, and the weight of the medal he presented soon tugged at the back of her neck. It hardly weighed anything, but Mila felt it could have dragged her straight through to Hosnian's molten core. She straightened – met Antilles's eyes and smiled at his congratulations for his sake – and saluted.

"Feel free to say a few words, Lieutenant," he said, squeezing the top of her arm and smiling as a father might have. Before she knew what she was doing, Mila was standing at the podium.

_Why did I do this? Why do I deserve this? Why am I alive? What about the others? I don't—_

"This is an incredible honor," she heard her voice bouncing through the sound system, "but I am the last person who deserves it. For every man we saved, ten or twenty of fifty didn't come home. And I wasn't alone. Without the courage of my platoon, I would have gotten nowhere."

She caught Wex and Darren's gazes from the crowd. Next to them sat her family. In the empty seat next to Lana was a framed flat holo and a folded New Republic flag, the same one Mila had clung to so desperately only a few nights before. Tears poked at the medic's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She tried to find words, but discovered she had none. None that could adequately capture what those heroes – heroes like Jaren – deserved. None that could express her gratitude, her grief and shame. Her  _awe_.

"If you had my back that night," she managed, smothering the waves of emotion that threatened to tumble out, "or if you lost someone… stand up." She tapped the medal – an Alliance starbird wrought from silver – with her nail, gently grasped it around its sturdy, royal blue suspension ribbon and held it up. "Because this belongs to you, too."

For a moment no one moved, and Mila was beginning to wonder if she'd done something wrong. Then Calo stood – she could see the tears glistening on his face from where she was standing. The rest of her family followed suit. Her platoon. Major Deso, who'd come to stand in for Rapier. The young Zabrak pilot that had waited for her on the flight line that night, who had saved her life moments after she saved his.

It took her a moment to realize that most of the crowd was now on its feet. Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart was pounding. She fought to keep the tears reemerging in her eyes from falling. Again she lost her ability to speak, so she offered them the best thing a battered soldier could:

A straight, fervent salute.

Though they deserved so much more, and it killed her that she couldn't give it to them.

* * *

When Poe had commed Rapier and told them the ceremony was starting, they'd practically sprinted from the flight line and swarmed into his room at breakneck speed. All of them – even Muran – had sported big grins as they were reunited with Kes, and Poe had fought back an amused laugh as he introduced them to L'ulo. Then Karé and Muran had flopped in chairs, and Iolo had folded himself comfortably on the floor, using the wall as a backrest, and settled in to watch the proceedings.

They all reeked of coolant and stale, recycled air and engine grease. The smell – the black oil plastered across the bridge of Karé's nose – made the itch of Poe's growing restlessness even more unpleasant.

When the general had draped that medal around his girlfriend's neck, no one had said a word. Poe swore he'd saw tears in Karé's eyes when Mila spoke. Kes and L'ulo had both been smiling. Now Poe just waited for the medic to come back, and the wait was driving him mad. If he had been able, he would have stood and ran to meet her as she came back in.

He hated that he hadn't be there for her in person.

Poe heard his door hiss open, and judging from the dizzying quickness with which he watched Karé stand and run to it, he didn't have to crane his neck around the wall to know who'd just come in.

A second later, he finally saw her – smiled broadly at the woman who had saved his life – and his heart raced at lightspeed as he held out his hand to her.

"Let me see it."

Mila fumbled with the clasp and gently laid the medal in Poe's hand. At first it was hard to believe there was really holding a Medal of Honor–  _Mila's_  medal, and easily her most staggering accomplishment – but the longer he stared at it, the more real it became. A grin sprawled across his face.

"I am so crazy proud of you," he said, handing it back to her.

A bashful smile – a tired smile – tugged at Mila's lips. "You helped me get it," she replied, quickly leaning in and kissing his forehead before sitting on the bed next to him.

The weight – the raging war – had returned to her eyes, and it had only intensified. Her thoughts, which Poe knew by the blank stare she burned in the floor were nothing but happy, claimed her. He softly took Mila's hand in his, hoping that might ebb the sting of whatever it was that was tearing at her exhausted mind. She returned his grasp – wrapped her fingers in his so she wouldn't drop them – and held on like he was a lifeline thrown to her through storm waters.

"How're you feeling?" she asked.

Poe could have said something cheeky, but the need in Mila's voice brushed an honest answer out of him. "I'm still wiped, but at least nothing hurts. Well… nothing hurts as bad as it did."

Mila genuinely smiled. Her rigid, tense posture slumped a little; the tension had released its grip on her – even if only a little bit. Poe found himself breathing a sigh of relief. He'd got what he bargained for.

"He slept like you told him to, too," Karé added. She'd sat back down and propped Poe's data pad against her folded knee as she worked through the correspondence her commander had missed out on during his month under. "Out cold for a few hours."

Poe jerked a thumb towards his squad. "They're on my case, doc. You don't have to worry."

Mila let out a breathy chuckle. Poe gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "And they've got reinforcements."

By the slightly confused look in her eye, Poe could tell she hadn't noticed anyone besides the Rapiers when she came in. She started to ask the question that was forming on her lips, but as her eyes darted around the room, she found her answer. Her eyes widened, and she shyly started to smile.

Kes grinned. "You must be Mila," he said, coming over to her and extending his hand. "Kes Dameron."

Mila didn't know what to say. This man – a legend in his own right – had fought and survived the Battle of Endor. He'd fought for the galaxy's liberation against an evil so unspeakable because he'd  _felt like it_. He was one of the reasons why the Rebels had won.

"It's… it's an honor," she fumbled.

Then all pretenses dropped, and he wrapped her up in a big warm bear hug, and all of a sudden Sergeant Kes Dameron wasn't screened away on some faraway pedestal, but present and real and so bafflingly human that it almost took Mila aback.

He was just… him.

He may have been a legend, but he had been a father first.

And she'd saved the life of his only child.

Kes didn't have words either; the look in his eyes – one that Mila had seen in many parents over the course of her career – had given him away. She'd never been able to respond eloquently if at all then, and she certainly couldn't now.

All Mila could think to do was hold on, so that was what she did.

And infinitesimally, the guilt that was strangling her heart released its grip, let her soul come up for a tiny breath of air, and when she stepped back – when that grimy hand pulled her back down again – its grip was not as strong.

Kes grasped her little shoulders, and she was suddenly very aware of the fact that his son hadn't inherited his towering height. He smiled kindly at her.

"The honor's  _mine_ , Mila," he said softly. "And thank you. For everything you've done."

Still a little dumbfounded, Mila managed a grateful smile of her own. She felt another hand on her shoulder – a longer-fingered, bonier hand – and when she turned around, her jaw fell slack.

_That can't be—_

"I  _know_ , right!?" Karé gushed. Poe laughed.

L'ulo L'ampar chuckled and held out his arms, that same gratitude brimming in his eyes that had filled Kes's. A little confused, she hesitated for a second before grinning herself and throwing her arms around him.

"You're very brave, Lieutenant," he said, and though she'd hardly met him, Mila could hear the smile in his voice. "Honestly, you remind me of someone I used to fly with." L'ulo pulled back, and the warmth with which he spoke released the grip of that invisible hand a little bit more. "Someone who would be every bit as proud of you as I am."

The smile returned to Mila's face. "Thank you," she replied, more than a little touched.

The aging Duros grinned cheekily. "And that one wasn't kidding when he said you were pretty."

Mila laughed outright and looked at her boyfriend, who nonchalantly shrugged. "Had to tell the whole truth, babe."

Mila shook her head, smiling. "I'm flattered," she said, softly sitting on the edge of Poe's bed. She could feel herself blushing a little bit, and she prayed no one would notice.

"You guys are so damn cute." Karé didn't look up from the data pad in her lap as she spoke, but she still beamed. She scrolled through the messages, more focused on the conversation around her than the work she was halfway doing.

"Anything earth-shattering, Two?" Poe asked.

Karé shook her head. "Unless you wanna know about the most recent Mirrin-sector trade route patrols, then no."

Poe good-naturedly scoffed. "Read it off to me next time I need to go to sleep. That'd do it."

"Nah," Karé shot back, continuing to scroll as a chuckle bubbled up inside her. "I'll save you the pain. Besides, you know Muran'll drop before you do, Commander, and then we'd all lose half our hearing from—"

She suddenly froze, staring at the screen with baited breath. Quickly she opened the message, and she clamped a hand over her mouth when she read the first lines:

_Commander Dameron,_

_A recovery team was dispatched to Rattatak to—_

"Karé?" Poe's concern momentarily pulled her back to them, but Karé kept reading until she found what she was hoping beyond hope to find.

Finally she looked up, and there were tears brimming in her eyes.

"They found him," she said, choking. The smile on her face, while grieved, shone with relief as the realization hit her, as she shakily voiced it to the others:

"He's coming home."


	36. I Know Where I Need To Be

_Chapter 36: I Know Where I Need To Be_

A flight line was usually a happy place. A place where a pilot could get their hands dirty and forget about every care they had in the world. A place of friendship, of laughs, of the one thing that brought everyone on that tarmac together: flight. It was a place of tearful farewells, yes, but also of excited reunions. Memories that were sweeter than the release of gravity ever could be. Days that lived on long after they had passed. Days that no one wanted to end.

Today was not one of those days.

Karé Kun led her battered squadron with as much tact as she could manage. She tried to think of how her commanding officer had carried himself when they had brought Palvo and Cage back to Hosnian Prime. He, though clearly struggling, shouldered the weight and marched on, every inch the composed, collected soldier everyone told him he was, that she  _knew_  he was.

Karé was no Poe Dameron, but Rattatak's horrific tragedy had nearly perfected her imitation.

She only wished he was well enough to be doing the honors himself.

 _Left, right. Left, right_. With the calm precision of the highly-trained New Republic Naval officer she was, she neared the troop transport that had been waiting for them. The warm hues of sunrise smeared together through unreleased tears like paint not thoroughly mixed. Her eyes – her unflinching, stone-serious face – didn't for one second leave the door, nor did her thoughts leave the person who inevitably was about to come through it for the final time.

She wondered if she could have done something to stop it. Every member of Rapier Squadron did.

And every one of them asked the question of  _why_.

_Why did this happen? Why us, and why again?_

_And why, for the love of the Force, did it have to be Kit that paid the price?_

Karé sharply called the Rapiers to a halt, then to formation. Iolo sharply stood at her side, with Mila – who had offered to stand in for Rapier One – directly across from her and Muran to her diagonal. The medic offered Karé something of a bolstering nod, but Rapier Two knew her well enough to see it was as much for her own well-being as it had been for Karé's.

Out of the corner of her eye Karé saw Kit's family moving towards them, clustered together as if trying to shut out the chill of grief that had settled in around them. Aly's little white sundress – Kit's favorite – draped cumbersomely across her tiny body like a thick funeral shawl. It took every ounce of discipline the Rapier had to maintain an emotionless face, to not run to the distraught girl and wrap her up in the biggest, warmest hug she could manage, to not fall at Kit's parents' feet and  _beg_  them for their forgiveness.

All those years ago, when a seventeen-year-old Kit Anderon had graduated as a Second Lieutenant and become Rapier Five – had made New Republic history as the youngest elite squadron member the Navy had ever seen – she had given them her word that she would bring their baby home to them.

She had broken that promise.

She had failed them.

The gangplank began to drop.

* * *

Mila heard the gears grinding, the hydraulics hissing as the transport prepared to unload its immeasurably precious cargo, but louder than the machinery, louder than the sniffles of the heartbroken family that she watched over Karé's shoulder, were General Organa's words:

 _You don't have to answer me immediately. You don't have to answer me at all. But at least consider_   _it._

This tremendous loss, the terror of that night. It could have all been avoided.

… _at least consider_   _it._

The hole that Kit had left in his squadron, in his family – in Mila's heart. It didn't have to be there.

… _at least consider_   _it._

The war she fought within herself every single day that she prayed no one knew about. The fear that the man she loved more than she had ever loved anyone might not ever fly again. The fact that the one person she craved solace from more than anything was no longer alive to give it, and she and her family still  _had not been told why_.

All of that could have been avoided. All of that  _should_  have been avoided.

… _at least consider it._

She could feel the extra weight of the additional comlink in one of her dress pockets. No matter what she did, she couldn't ignore it.

More and more, it itched to be used.

The inside of the gangplank finally began to expose itself to the morning light, revealing the top of a spotless New Republic flag.

_Consider it… consider it…._

* * *

Poe watched the proceedings from through a massive observatory window at the medcenter, but it wasn't enough.

He should have been there with them.

He'd been awake for two weeks. He'd made massive strides. He'd  _felt_  the improvement, though his squadron and his doctor both had deemed it an unnecessary risk. Poe knew they were only trying to look after him, and he truly did appreciate it, but more and more he grew resentful towards the decision.

He shouldn't have listened to them. He should have gone anyway.

They  _needed_  him. More than ever, they did. And he  _wasn't there._

The gangplank was nearly on the ground. He clenched his jaw, gripped the arm of the hoverchair he was confined to. He felt heat rise behind his tired eyes, but he furiously blinked it back. He'd never felt so alo—

 _You're not alone, Dameron. Don't act like you are_.

Kes and L'ulo had flanked him. Poe had no idea what kind of mission could have kept a Resistance pilot away from his secret base – wherever the hell it was – for so long, but the commander was glad it had. L'ulo lost his fair share of men during and after the war – including Poe's mother – so the aging Duros had coped with copious amounts of loss over his long years. It was only a small comfort to have him and his father there with him, but a comfort nonetheless.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Poe expected to see Kes when he looked up, but he found Major Deso. The pilot managed an appreciative nod.

He may not have been alone, but it didn't keep him from feeling that way.

* * *

" _Attention!"_

The command barked out of Karé's mouth as she restrained a sob that scratched at her throat. She could see it moving towards her.

She couldn't bring herself to look at it. That would make it too real.

At least, unlike almost all of the other Rapiers, Kit's coffin wasn't empty. At least now, she and the rest of Rapier Squadron would get to say a real goodbye.

It was a painful gift, but one far too precious to pass up.

Karé stared straight ahead as the Senate Intelligence officers that had found him gently guided him past. She snapped to a salute. The tears she'd fought so hard to hold back now streamed down her stony face. Mila's cheeks shone, too. Though she couldn't see them, she knew Iolo's eyes and face were probably red, and Muran's jaw most likely bulged as he tried and failed to hold himself together.

She finally made herself look at the casket. At the devastated family that surrounded it. At the mother who had thrown herself across it, wrapping her arms around it as if to hold her only child one last time. A shaky gasp forced its way into Karé's lungs.

 _I'm sorry, babyface. I'm so, so sorry_.

* * *

Aly Lin-Sarlin's worst fear had been realized.

It had nearly happened once before – thank the Force it hadn't then. Though he had been under a foreign atmosphere for most of the extra year she had gotten with her Kit, she couldn't have been more grateful for the time he had spent with her. She now white-knuckled every memory of him she had left like she white-knuckled the hem of her dress.

He had recovered. His life had been saved, and she had been gifted with a whole other  _year_. For what? For him to be killed anyway? For the First Order to—

 _No_ , she told herself, not for the first time.  _He lived for a reason, he said. Everything happens for a reason. Even his pass… even his passing…._

Whatever reason the Force had to call Kit Anderon back into itself, it better have been a good one. She had to believe it was a good one, for her own sake. For the Rapiers, who came towards them now. Karé's pace quickened as she neared them, but nearly as soon as she surged forward, she stopped, staring at something over Aly's shoulder.

All of the Rapiers – and Lieutenant Criss, who Aly realized had been out there with them in place of Commander Dameron – all froze in place, looking at the exact same spot, angry and relieved all at once.

She started to say something, but felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She turned – looked down at the man in the hoverchair who now held her hand – and for the first time that morning she felt a smile on her face.

"Poe."

* * *

He had a feeling his squad and his girlfriend alike were going to kill him for this, but Poe didn't care. He  _had_  to be down there with them. He had been by their sides – and them by his – through what undoubtedly had been the hardest year of their lives, and he wasn't about to sit back and abandon them now.

Aly's reddened, tear-stained face lit up a little when she saw him. Though it pained him a bit to do so, Poe held out his arms to her.

"C'mere," he whispered.

Aly hesitated. "Commander—"

"You're not gonna hurt me, Aly, I promise. It's okay."

Slowly the girl knelt next to him and gingerly wrapped her arms around him. Poe didn't know how long he held her, didn't know how long she softly cried into his shoulder. It hurt, yes, but the sharp physical pain dulled in comparison to that of watching from a distance, to that of doing  _nothing_.

And, if he were honest, he needed this as badly as knew Aly did.

Finally she stood, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her bare hand. Aly offered him a trembling smile.

"It's good to see you're getting better," she said. "You've been in our thoughts."

Poe grinned at her warmly. "And you've been in mine, Aly."

He caught Mila's concerned, disapproving gaze. All of Rapier mirrored her expression.

"I needed to see him," Poe defended himself. "I needed to see  _you_."

The earnestness in his voice took them all aback. Karé and Iolo exchanged glances. Hesitantly Mila nodded, her tear-filled eyes downcast. She wasn't thrilled with him – the scowl growing on her face gave her away – but she obviously didn't have the energy to fight him on it either. She silently came to his side, studying the permacrete under her feet until Aly tightly embraced her. Both women wept as they tried to reassure one another, but Poe couldn't pick out the words. His hand drifted to the casket's cold, black side as the escorts eased it open. His jaw bulged as he angrily combated the heat rising in his eyes.

Though he could tell his face had been reconstructed from the burns, Kit looked like he was asleep. Peaceful, resolute. Like he'd had time to think about exactly what he'd done – exactly what he'd sacrificed – and regretted nothing. Though without his soul still happily residing within, his body was only a shell of what it had once been.

As much as Poe wanted to look away, he couldn't make himself.

This shouldn't have happened. This could have been avoided. More and more he mulled over his own actions in the hours leading up to the attack, and the little he could remember of what he'd done during.

He wondered if he could have stopped it.

It was a dangerous path to wander down, but he slumped down it nonetheless.

_You don't have to apologize for something you're not responsible for. You can only blame the guy with the gun—_

"I'm sorry, Kit," he whispered limply. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't notice the others going quiet as he continued:

"We'd all give anything to have you here with us again. You gave us hope when we had none. You kept the fire from going out." He chuckled ironically. "Force knows we could use some of that right now."

Silence suddenly screamed in his ears, and Poe realized those around him were hanging on his every word.

"We'll keep it going, Kit. I promise you we'll find a way. Even if it costs us everything we have, this galaxy's not gonna fall as long as we're in it. The First Order will pay for what they've done. To all of us, to you. And we'll stop them before it can get worse.

"You kept us tied to this Republic. I still believe in it with every fiber of my being. In the heroes that will rise up and keep it strong. In… in the ones who did and never made it back."

He softly laid his hand on Kit's shoulder, almost as if he were trying not to wake the boy up.

"You just wanted to do the right thing, Kit. You never wanted to be a hero." A pained smile – a proud smile – trembled across Poe's face. "It just kind of turned out that way."

Mila wrapped her arms around his shoulders, which heaved a steadying sigh. One hand grabbed for his girlfriend's; the other pushed a stray piece of Kit's dark hair out his face.

"Look after the others for me, will you?"

Finally Poe's eyes dropped, and it took everything in him not to fall apart right there. He  _had_  to stay strong for the others. He'd done it before.

Mila tightened her grip and wove her fingers into his hair, holding him close. He felt his father's hand on his other shoulder, and he was certain Kes's free hand was holding Mila fast. The others – Karé, Iolo, and Muran, the three of the only four remaining members of Rapier Squadron – came in around him, all somewhat holding each other.

Little by little, they shouldered each other's' hurt, and all present knew that they were not alone.

* * *

Since her first days on base as a Rapier, Karé had kept a small, unopened bottle of Corellian brandy hidden in the back corner of her closet, and it was more of a luck talisman than anything. In that corner it was supposed to stay, collecting dust until the day Karé retired, when she and her closest friends would pop it open and celebrate their sprawling lists of accomplishments.

She'd brushed the dust off as soon as she'd come back from the flight line, and now it was half-way empty. The amber liquid's warm sting proved to be a good distraction, though every sip still reminded her that she'd promised herself she wouldn't open it alone, and that most of those she was supposed to share this with had been taken from her far too soon.

Karé absent-mindedly dragged her index finger around the tabletop, side-eyed her empty glass, and started to pour another. As soon as she reached for the bottle, it disappeared from her grasp.

" _Daa-aat_ ," Iolo said sharply, yanking it away. "You don't need it, Karé."

The Rapier groaned. "Give it back, Iolo."

Iolo shook his head. Karé sighed.

"Iolo, come  _on_ —"

"No. You don't need it, Two." Holding the bottle behind his back, Iolo grabbed Karé's glass, rinsed it out, and put some water in it. "There," he said gently, sending the glass back over to her. "Sip on that. Then try to get some sleep, okay?"

Karé smirked. "Yes,  _Mom_."

Concern flooded Iolo's oddly-colored irises. "You'll feel like sithspit in the morning if you keep going," he went on, holding the bottle up as he looked for the cork, "and you  _know_  where we have to be— _Muran!_ "

Rapier Four had yanked the bottle from Iolo's relaxed grip. "What?" he shrugged. "She's not using it. Can't waste it."

Muran tipped the bottle up and took a big swig directly from it. Iolo groaned.

"Give me that," he snapped, snatching it away and slamming his hand over the top. He scanned the rest of Karé's small living quarters for the cork, peeking under the table and even under Karé's bed, until he found it at the base of the closet. With a satisfied huff he wedged it back into the bottle's mouth, turning around to face the others with his confiscation still clutched tightly in his hand.

Karé stared at the floor, numb. Muran glowered into empty space.

"Why did we wait?" Karé murmured.

Iolo's brow furrowed. "What?"

"We should have left after Daxam IV. Hell, before then. We  _all_  should have gone with Jess—"

"Karé." Iolo knelt next to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

" _Why didn't we!?_ " she suddenly roared. "What was stopping us?"

Iolo took a deep breath, measuring his response. "The Republic needed us, Karé.  _Still_  needs us—"

"And yet we can't defend it without being called liars and warmongers."

The drop of a pin could have deafened them in the silence that followed. Iolo opened his mouth to speak, but Karé cut him off:

" _All_  of Rapier would still be alive had we just listened to her. And we'd all be able to do what we signed up to do—"

Iolo measured his next words. "We stayed to protect the Republic, Karé. We stayed because we hadn't given up—"

"It's not giving up, Iolo." Karé reached for her friend's hand, suddenly needing the support. "We're supposed to protect the New Republic from  _all_  harm. From things like the First Order. Command's not letting us do that. But Senator— _General_ Organa could."

Iolo's face fell. "They're only rumors, Karé."

"And yet, they're truer and truer every day." She looked at him, tears glassing in her eyes, and her shaky grip on his hand tightened. "People believe in her, Iolo. In the Resistance. Even if it is just a rumor… it's giving people hope. And if that's the case, then I know where I need to be."

She stared straight ahead at a framed flat holo on her wall, one of twelve fresh-faced, elite New Republic hotshots lined up in front of their fighters. People who had never seen war and honestly never expected to, only to have it burst down their front door and strip them of their innocence – and some, their lives – all the same. Karé's jaw set.

"We  _all_  do."


	37. The True Heroes

_Chapter 37: The True Heroes_

None of the Rapiers had slept that night, nor had any of them eaten that morning. Karé and Iolo and Muran had sullenly filed into Poe's quarters like wayward ghosts in search of a final resting place, all of them mere shells of their normal selves as they'd tried to bolster each other and their commanding officer. Nothing Poe could have said could have possibly freed the air from the weight that stiffened it.

At least, he told himself, they took comfort in the fact that with each passing day, he'd come to look and act more like himself. Physically, he felt lightyears better than he had only days before. Though he and the others – probably himself more so than anyone else who knew him – wished it had never happened at all, that it was not still holding him back. More and more his hospital room felt like a detention cell. Today, especially.

He knew where the others were going. And it infuriated him that he wouldn't be there.

They'd all agreed that Mila would come in his stead after she finished her shift – a tight window, but the lieutenant said she could deal with the rush – so that at least was comforting. She was one of the few outside the squadron that Poe could trust with looking after them, and she would do her job well. Over and over he told himself he had nothing to be worried about, nothing to be ashamed of. That his absence would be understood.

It did nothing.

He had to  _be_  there. There had to be a way.

Poe clenched his teeth as his stomach turned, as he fought to ignore the sharp heat poking through his ribs. He watched Mila for a moment. The morning light betrayed the shadowy bags beneath her eyes, the redness around her irises. Her skin had settled into the hollows of her face farther than it was welcome; her hands, which had started to become a bit thinner, dragged exhaustedly over the controls she tinkered with. When she spoke, there was a scratch in her throat.

She'd slept little since she'd heard about Jaren. Poe knew that ate at her more than anything, but he had begun to suspect something deeper. Uglier. Stoicism and stubbornness kept it locked away, but Poe'd begun to see its eyes glowing through the cell bars. She couldn't keep it hidden forever… whatever it was.

But why hadn't she told him?

Poe shrugged the question off as soon as it ventured into his brain. He trusted she would tell him eventually; he just had to be patient… something that he had never for a second been good at. Waiting to know. Waiting to be let out. Waiting to feel like himself again, for life to somewhat return back to normal. It itched at the bottom of his feet, brought the walls in closer around him. Echoed through his head like the ticking of a chrono in an empty hallway.

He couldn't do his job here.

Mila wearily eyed the chrono on the wall, sighed, and came to his bedside. A tired smile limped across her face.

"You need anything before I go?"

Poe solemnly shook his head. Mila softly kissed his temple.

"I'll be back soon. I'll bring the others if you're up for it."

She turned and started to make for the door, the tapping of her retreating steps beating the words Poe had been holding back closer and closer to the tip of his tongue before they, unbidden, broke out of his mouth:

"Let me come with you."

Mila froze, and the air stiffened with her. She turned over her shoulder towards him, a thousand different unpinpointable emotions rolling across her face. She sounded as confused as she did scared.

"What?"

 _Good job, Dameron_.

Poe swallowed a wince as he sat up. "I can't just sit here and make you guys go through this by yourselves—"

"We understand, Poe," she cut him off. "I promise. The best thing you can do right now is lay back and get better."

"Which I am." Poe pushed a little harder. "Have been doing. Exponentially. You said so yourself."

Mila's eyes glistened sadly, though a bit indignantly. Poe could tell she had already dug her heels into the sand. "And you've still got a ways to go before—"

"Cemetery's not far, Mila. We could be back here in two hours tops—"

Mila shook her head, her jaw hardening. "You can hardly walk for fifteen  _minutes_."

"And you're the one who said I needed to work on that number—"

"Over time, not at once!" Mila tiredly snapped. "I don't know what it would do to you—"

Poe held his hands up. "I'm not made of glass, doc."

Mila folded her arms across her chest. "And you're not made of durasteel, either."

Poe grunted frustratedly. "Mila—"

"No _._ "

"Come on _—_ "

"I don't want to set you back," Mila went on, fear setting in around her gaze like mist. "You try to push yourself too hard before you're ready and I  _guarantee_  you—"

"I can deal with that."

Mila eyed him sharply. "Poe—"

"If it means I can get down to my squad, I can deal with whatever I have to. Just let me be there with them."  _It's as much for their sake as it is for mine_.

Mila fell silent.

"I'm first in," Poe continued, his voice softening as he stood and slowly, stiffly came towards her. "Last out. No matter the battle. And this is the worst one we'll ever fight."

The medic blew out a deep breath, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. If she let him go through with this,  _so_ many things could go wrong. She could name at least ten within a second. But…

Gently he lifted her little hand into his own, his eyes begging her long before his words did.

"Just tell me what to do, doc."

Her fingers tightened around his palm.

Maybe….

"Mila?"

Mila's gaze finally met his.

"You're not to leave my sight," she relented. "That's an order."

* * *

 _This is a horrible idea_.

She could have sent him back at any second – a little part of her thought she should – but more and more Mila felt that this horrible idea was one of the few that needed to be acted upon. Since they'd left the medcenter and gone back to the officer's barracks, Poe had, despite the bleak context of his brief release, perked up considerably. He moved slowly. He was drowsy from the pain meds and still a bit woozy from the short bacta stint Mila had made him take before they left. But he somehow seemed more alive, more  _himself_ , than he had in weeks.

He wasn't anywhere close to being back to his normal self, but the Poe she knew was starting to poke above the surface again.

If only she could change their circumstances.

She'd helped him into his dress uniform – the stiff fabric had been especially unforgiving this morning – and dragged her own on. He sat on the bed behind her as she swept up her hair; she could see him in the mirror she stood in front of, wedging his feet into his boots as BB-8 over-audited every last one of his movements. A ghost of a smile tugged at Mila's lips. That, at least, hadn't changed.

Mila grabbed at that whisper of normalcy and clutched it like a child squeezing a toy after a nightmare. She watched as Poe smiled at the droid, ruffling his dome as if ruffling someone's hair. And though he was tired, he  _did_  look handsome.

She surveyed herself, straightened her uniform, tucked a few stray hairs into place. Slowly her eyes dropped to the floor in front of her, to the small duffel she had brought with her. The corner of a long, black box poked out beyond the zipper. Mila tensed.

She only had one more thing to do before she'd at least appear ready, and a lot of her wished she could leave it out. Slowly she bent and picked it up, ran her small hand across the top, and opened it. Cold silver stared back at her, glinting harshly in the sunlight. Her finger brushed the medal's suspension ribbon but stopped short.

Every time she saw it, she was reminded how she got it.  _Why_  she got it. The one thing she wanted more than anything to forget seared through her mind in vivid detail, and that old familiar guilt crawled back into her heart.

She could think of a thousand people who deserved to wear it more than she did. One of them, a father and husband and brother, would never come home. Another – a bright-eyed, freckle-faced boy – now slept in a casket.

All Mila could do was stare at the open box and frown while her stomach churned. Her jaw clenched. Tears pricked at her eyes.  _Why_  had—

She hadn't noticed Poe standing behind her until he'd wrapped his arms around her. Gingerly he lifted the medal from its box and clasped it into place. His fingers lingered a moment, drifting over her soft skin, the comfort of his touch balming her disquieted soul, warming her worn-down body like a blanket. The weight around her neck lessened. She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, listened to his wordlessly whispered message:

_I'm right here._

_It'll all be okay_.

She turned over her shoulder and softly kissed him, her quiet, stalwart reply. Mila's tiny hand found his.

"You ready?"

Poe shook his head. "Not really," he sighed. "Not for this."

Mila threaded his arm through hers, shifting to take on some of his weight as they stepped towards the door.

"Lean on me, flyboy. We'll get through this together."

* * *

Karé looked across the painted sky as she wound through the Memorial Gardens. She couldn't believe she was standing here again, in the one place that she'd hoped she'd never have to return to under any circumstances. Yet fate had dragged her back, kicking and screaming. She surveyed the land, the grass, the river running at the bottom of the hill, the mountains in the distance.

There were rainclouds on the horizon. How fitting.

She straightened her dress greens and kept walking. People had already began to pool around the burial site. She counted seven headstones, seven holes in her heart. Soon to be eight.

Eight reasons to run. Eight reasons to fall apart and never stand again

Eight reasons to jump in her X-wing and keep fighting.

Eight reasons to do the one thing she wished she'd done earlier.

She was sure General Organa needed more pilots. As soon as Poe was healed… she and the others had decided to talk to him about it.

"One of us goes, and all of us go," she'd told him once. And Karé always stood by her word.

Iolo and Muran had beaten her there; they stood close to the podium talking with Kes and L'ulo. Wearily she came up between them, and Iolo instantly wrapped her up in a hug.

"Still feeling it from last night?" he asked.

Karé actually smirked. "No, thanks to you." She felt Muran's hand on her shoulder. "Hey, buddy."

"Hang in there," Rapier Four replied simply.

Karé pulled back and nodded at the both of them. "You two look sharp," she said, trying to smile. "We're just..." She sighed, and her shoulders sagged. "We're one down."

Iolo and Muran exchanged defeated glances.

"He's where he needs to be, Karé," Iolo reassured.

"No he's not." Karé frowned hard to keep her lips from trembling. "He should be  _here_."

Neither Rapier Three nor Rapier Four knew how to respond.

"Carry on, Rapier Two," L'ulo put a long-fingered hand on her shoulder. "That's what they'd both want."

The Duros offered a reassuring smile, and Karé found the strength to return it. She looked over his shoulder and saw Calo talking to Kit's parents. Aly was walking towards her. The girl caught her eye, and her trembling face broke. Karé ran to her, scooping her into her arms and holding her fast as she sobbed.

"I miss him," Aly whimpered.

Karé nodded, swallowing tears herself. "So do I, Aly," she said, rocking her a little. "So do I."

More people started to file in, and Karé wished they'd never shown up. She didn't know any of them, and she knew exactly what they'd do if they got the chance to speak with her. And she did  _not_ want to hear it. Any of it. No, they did not know how she felt. No, time did not heal all wounds; it only clotted the blood, slowed the pain.

No, they weren't  _sorry_. They never were. Not truly.

 _Go away,_  she wanted to roar.

The crowd started to part, almost as if they'd heard her thoughts. But they murmured back and forth to one another, exchanged awed glances with each other as they watched something on the other side of the hill, something that Karé couldn't yet see. Her grip on Aly relaxed, and Aly looked up to see what the commotion was about. The people hadn't cleared, and neither of them could find what had excited them.

Then a voice – sharp as a blaster shot, tired and worn and angry – snapped across the tops of their heads. They moved. Karé realized they hadn't been startled back.

They were following an order.

Mila.

And leaning on her arm…

She didn't believe it.

She started to walk towards him, her jaw hanging open in disbelief. Rapier One held his free hand up as Karé's pace quickened.

"Don't kill me, Two," he said. "She's holding me together, I promi— _ooof_."

With a tired chuckle, Poe wrapped his arms around his old friend. "Good to see you too, Lieutenant Kun."

Karé offered him and Mila a trembling smile. Relief poured from her gaze, from Iolo and Muran's. None of them quite believed what they were seeing.

The First Order hadn't broken Poe Dameron. So the First Order wouldn't break  _them_ , either.

All of them, despite the bleak of what they were about to face, felt a little bit of strength return.

* * *

He hadn't prepared anything specific to say, but a part of him felt like Kit would have preferred it that way. The boy had always been the most spontaneous out of all of them. In a way, it felt right.

But as he ascended to the podium, as he surveyed the crowd in front of him, Poe realized he had no idea where to start. All of those people now leaned on him for encouragement as he leaned on the podium for strength.

There was so much to be said. So much he could say, so many raging emotions for him to swallow to maintain face that he could have gagged on them all. He white-knuckled the side of the podium – the pain meds were beginning to wear off a little – as he tried to steel himself. Finally the words welled up inside him, and they were as honest as he could ever remember them being:

"Kit, we miss you every day, buddy. Your wit. Your courage. Your unshakable resolve. So many times, you stared unimaginable circumstances straight in the face and laughed at them. We never knew how you did it. We still don't. The whole world came out against us, against you, but through it all, you were still smiling. You faced unspeakable horror – some of which should have killed you – and still you came out on the other side.

"I couldn't be prouder of you. None of us could be. You were so full of life, and you definitely lived life to the fullest. You've given us so much, given me so many things that I know I will never be able to repay you for—" he glanced at Mila "—and I can't thank you enough. We all owe you our lives. And I wish more than anything that I could see you one last time and thank you in person."

His dark eyes drifted to the casket below him, pausing thoughtfully on the New Republic flag that was carefully draped over the top of it. That flag meant the world to Kit. To all of them. Though now, the sight of it bit deep.

Had the Republic just done its job, he wouldn't be standing here, and Rapier Five would still be flying, not making the final jump. But  _he_  still had a job to do, as excruciating as it was.

He kept going.

"So many times," Poe went on, "people all over the galaxy hear of Rapier pulling out and going on patrol, neutralizing a threat, doing something for the good of the Republic. And every time we come home, they call us heroes. But we all know too well there are those that have flown with us that are far more deserving of that title."

He paused, pursing his lips together and sighing.

"Korne. Tendora. Colsan. Reaves. Ordona. Palvo. Cage. Anderon. Today, especially Anderon."

He managed a small smile. A mournful, grateful smile.

"To the man who willingly gave up  _everything_ for the Republic that he loved so much, that he believed in with every fiber of his being. To the incredible person who supported us, who held us together when we were falling apart, the one who still stands with us in spirit: You are the reason that we are still standing here."

He looked up, raking the crowd with his eyes and nodding.

" _You_  are the true hero, not us. And as we say our last goodbyes, I hope you know how much we mean that."

Bowing his head, Poe took a step back, wincing as he retook his full weight back on his feet. Slowly, he moved down a small flight of stairs, rounding the corner of the podium and stopping at the head of Kit's casket. Karé stood at the foot. Both furiously blinked back tears.

Poe laid a hand on the side of the casket. "Rest easy, buddy," he whispered. He raised his dark eyes to Karé's and nodded. As they had so many times before, the two Rapiers took up the corners of the New Republic flag and folded it, carefully tucking it into a triangle and exchanging salutes as he handed it off to her. Taking a deep breath and fighting to steady herself, Karé took it to Kit's mother.

"On behalf of the New Republic Starfleet and of Rapier Squadron," she whispered, choking. "Please accept this flag as a token of our gratitude for your son's service." Her hand found Kit's mother's shoulder. "I am so sorry for your loss."

Seven times before Karé had done this, said those exact same words, and every time it had stung. Now, on the eighth round, it was near unbearable. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

Inwardly, she cringed. So hollow – so unattached – she knew she must have sounded. Even to her own ears, her statement seemed empty, void, meaningless. Ceremonial. How desperately she wanted to throw her arms around the grieving mother's neck, to in that moment tell her how much Kit meant to her and the rest of her squadron. To say something she could be proud of.

Something she felt like Kit would smile at.

Kit's mother squeezed her gloved hand. "I'm sorry for yours too, sweetie."

She exchanged brief glances with Aly, who offered the Rapier a small, reassuring smile through her tears.

Karé nodded at her and straightened, slowly raising her hand in one final salute. She took several steps back and stopped next to her commanding officer, who solemnly looked on. Mila now stood by his side, her arm wrapped around his as he wearily leaned on her to save his waning energy. Iolo and Muran flanked them, staring straight ahead.

A gun salute banged off somewhere behind them. Poe's hand found Mila's and grasped it tightly. Tears brimmed in the medic's eyes as she looked up at him, taking a deep breath and nodding reassuringly.

They both fought to be strong for one another, and each wished the other wouldn't.

Quad engines screamed in the distance, and four X-wings suddenly roared overhead. The fighter to the right of the point accelerated, climbing into the air as the other three soared straight ahead underneath him.

The missing man formation.

Eight times too many, Poe had seen it carried out for one of his own. He stared at the hole that the fourth fighter had left, his jaw clenching as a few tears silently, angrily streamed down his face.

He would give anything to have that hole filled again. To have all who he had lost standing by his side, to turn back the clock and talk to them all. Laugh with them. Introduce them to the gorgeous woman that he still couldn't quite believe he got to call his. Tell them about everything that had happened since they had left.

As the fighters faded into the sunset, he looked over his remaining squadron. All three of them watched the sky as they silently wept. Mila mirrored them, sniffing and laying her head on Poe's shoulder. He softly kissed her forehead and turned his own eyes to the sky to watch the fighters charging off into the distance. Right then and there, he silently made a promise.

His squadron he would never, ever go through this again.

He just hoped to the Force that he could keep it.


	38. Falling Apart

Chapter _38: Falling Apart_

She hated press interviews. By the stars, she kriffing hated them. For every second she'd been sitting in the Memorial Gardens with the holocams rolling, Mila felt like she was under a microscope, mined for every last detail of something she had been trying so desperately to forget. Her answers to nearly every question had been clipped and curt. She could hardly look at the  _Galaxy Beacon_ reporter as she mumbled through her teeth.

Normally she could have put on a professional face and pushed through – still, though she was failing, she tried to do just that – but this hit far too close to a mark that she was fighting with everything in her to hide.

"I just want the truth," the reporter, who was proving to be incredibly patient, said gently. "The  _real_  truth, Lieutenant. I've been in this business long enough to know when someone's trying to cover something up."

"Nobody will believe me," Mila muttered, her conscience smarting with shame. She really wasn't trying to take it out on the poor woman sitting opposite her, yet—

 _Buck up and tell her. Put on a brave face. You don't want to let those you know see you break, yet you're coming apart in front of the entire New Republic. Stop. Before they see you shatter_.

"And did we ask them to?"

That Mila looked up at. The reporter – Mila recognized her as the same tall Squattaman woman from just before her meeting with Antilles – eyed her empathetically. Mila doubted she truly understood, but she tried to be thankful for the gesture nonetheless. The lieutenant shook her head and forced a smile that, to the untrained eye, would have looked confident.

She'd seen herself in the monitors. In the weeks since Kit's funeral, the bags under her eyes had only darkened; her skin had sunken into the hollows of her cheeks; the whites of her eyes had streaked with runnels of red. She looked as hideous as she felt.

And here she was trying to act like she had it all together.

Mila smoothed the front of her dress skirt as she tried to gather her thoughts. She took a deep breath.

"Honestly, I… I don't remember that much of it."

 _That's a lie_.

"But… what I will say is that—" she swallowed hard "—it was horrific, and I… I nearly lost my life."

Her trembling voice caught on the last word. She gritted her teeth. Her feeble façade was crumbling.

"They were… they were everywhere. In the village. On the base. They… they killed whoever got in their way. They wiped out the entire tribe."

The reporter's brow furrowed. "Who? The Rattataki?"

"Stormtroopers. They… they trapped them in the mountains. Dropped a bomb on them." Mila added in a raspy whisper, "Like I was just there to watch."

Mila heard the woman's breath catch in her throat. She stared at the ground. Her hands, which had a white-knuckle grip on the stone bench she was sitting on – started to shake.

"They trapped all those kids in the mess hall. We… we got them out with some effort—"

It all rushed her again, a wave crashing over her head, drowning her in every last detail from the operation. The agent – his startlingly white teeth flashing as he snarled in her face – choked any cry for help Mila could have mustered from her throat as he crushed it between his hands. People screamed as her vision blotched black. The flaming room spun. Her life hung in the balance—

She hadn't realized how much the memory had sucked her in until she found herself panting as if she'd run seven standard miles straight uphill. Her eyes had swarmed with tears. Fatigue tingled in her limbs. The red recording lights from the holocams burned holes into her, stoking the flames of her rising embarrassment. A renegade tear ran down her cheek as she furiously wiped it away.

 _Kriffing hell_.

"It's alright, Lieutenant." The reporter got through to her somehow, and she sighed, trying to expel the tension from her body and the images from her mind. "You don't have to go on if you don't want to. You've given me plenty—"

"They were going to burn them alive," Mila forced the words out, her faced scrunched as if saying it physically hurt her. "If they didn't say why… why we were there… h-he was going to lock the doors and…."

A steady hand caught Mila's. The sudden movement made her jump and she jerked away, but it grounded her some nonetheless. The Squattaman woman looked heartbroken.

"You saved a lot of lives that night, Lieutenant Criss," she said. "We're indebted to—"

" _Stop_."

"But we  _are—_ "

"But it  _wasn't enough!_ "

The reporter recoiled, a little offended but bearing it well. Mila's face fell.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, barely audible. "I just…" She put her head in her hands. Guilt churned her stomach. "I can't hear that anymore."

The reporter gave her an understanding nod. "That's alright, Lieutenant."

Mila wouldn't look at her. She only shook her head.

"I was in the Navy for years," the reporter said, putting a hand on Mila's shoulder. "Flew more missions than I can count and saw plenty of things I wish I could forget."

A thousand biting responses lurked in Mila's mind.  _You don't understand. You have no idea how it feels to look in the mirror and no longer recognize yourself. To no longer trust yourself. You don't know just how hard I'm fighting to stay above water when I'm already ten feet under and being dragged to the bottom._

What came out was none of those things, but Mila's tone still tasted of them:

"Why'd you leave?"

The reporter sighed and tucked a piece of hip-length blue-black hair behind her pointed ear. "I was frustrated," she said after some consideration. "We were being held back, and no one would tell us why. So I told myself that if I couldn't help the Republic with weapons, I'd do it with words."

Mila nodded, a small smile tinging her scowling face. "Poe told me you had a way with them."

The reporter grinned. "And how is he?"

A genuine smile – a sad smile – softened Mila's features. "Hanging in there. Getting up and moving around before he should have set him back pretty far, but he's making progress." Her laugh cleansed the air of some of its tension. "Followed my every order down to the letter these past few weeks. Said he's gotta make it up to me for breaking so many early on. But… he needed to be there for that. Rapier—they really needed him there that day, Miss Javos."

The reporter's face fell. "I wish I could have been there."

"Did you know him? Lieutenant Anderon?"

The reporter shook her head. "He was still in the Academy when I left. I've never met any of Rapier Squadron, but if they're anything like their commander, then they are wonderful people."

Mila nodded. "They are." She felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "They're like family." She took a deep breath and looked the reporter square in the face. "Do… do you need anything else?"

She was afraid to ask, but she'd done it anyway. The reporter nodded hesitantly.

"Is there anything you can tell me about the inside of the Command building? About saving Commander Dameron?"

That was the worst of it.

The one thing that above all haunted Mila's conscience, that burned and stuck to her memory like hot tar. The experience started to flood back. Mila shook her head furiously, not only not wanting to recount it but desperately trying to will it away before it could consume her. Icy tension balled between her shoulder blades.

"No," she whispered, choking a little bit. "All… all I can say is that I had to. I had to do it."

"Why?"

Poe's wan, near-lifeless face flashed before her eyes, her arms remembering the pressure of his dead weight. Mila sighed.

"Because I love him." She nodded resolutely, the image of his smile warming her tired bones, easing the sting of her anxiety. "I love him, and I wasn't going to lose him."

The reporter's amber eyes sparkled as she grinned.

"I can't thank you enough for your time, Lieutenant Criss," she said as she stood and shook Mila's hand. "This… this could really change things. People need to know the truth. I am so grateful you were brave enough to share it."

 _Brave?_ Mila inwardly scoffed.  _No. I'm not. That's not even the half of it_.

"Of course." She forced a smile, the battle in her mind leaking into it. "I'll tell Poe you said hello, Sura. He'll be glad to hear from you."

Suralinda Javos smiled. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Mila took an awkward step back and nodded a goodbye before turning around. Her pace quickened, as if she had left her resurfacing memories on the bench and was trying to outrun them. She crested the top of a nearby hill and stopped to watch the river as it ran past her and into the distance. Watching the rippling water – listening to its bubbly song – calmed her. She sat in the grass and decided to watch the sun set, to compose herself a little before heading back to base.

She felt like a bomb about to explode. Poe didn't need to see her like that.

Footsteps crunched in the grass behind her, and she tensed. Just as she was hoping they'd pass, they came closer and stopped. Mila grunted.

"Now's  _really_  not the time—"

"I, uh… I thought I would find you back at base, sis," a voice trembled. Mila whipped around, the prickly tension rising in her skin ebbing once she saw her brother's face.

"Calo."

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "C-Can I sit?"

A little smile eased across Mila's face as she nodded. Calo folded his spindly legs in front of him as he sat. He sighed heavily.

"Are you okay, buddy?" Mila asked.

Calo yanked at the grass in front of him nervously, twisting the blades between his fingers. "I came to say goodbye to Tover and Varsha."

Calo's voice broke, and Mila laid a hand on his shoulder before wrapping her arms completely around him. She softly rubbed his back as he clung to her.

"I… had to tell them something important, Mil," he said, pulling back. "And… as soon as they knew, I was—I was going to find you. To tell you."

Mila's brow furrowed. "Tell me what, Calo?"

Calo gritted his teeth. His eyes were turning red, fear flooding them with unreleased tears.

"I… I did something, Mila. And… I-I know you might hate it – I  _know_  Mom and Dad will – but I… I just couldn't wait any longer. And I know it's bad timing with Jaren and everything, and I don't mean to up and leaveyou like this, or Damien or Lana or the boys or Rapier or  _any_  of you, but—"

" _Calo_." Mila's voice was firm, but gentle. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath, and he didn't look at her as he whispered so softly his terrified voice blended in with the wind:

"I joined the Resistance, Mila."

* * *

"You did  _what!?_ "

Cassius Criss looked and sounded like his youngest son had just told him that he'd committed some horrible crime. The Corellian-born Coruscanti had always had a temper – something he had passed down to his only daughter and late son – and when the wire was tripped, the explosion was other-worldly. Calo and Mila had already braced for the blast.

Calo raised his hands, almost as if Cassius had pointed a loaded blaster at his chest. "Look, Dad, I know how it sounds, but—"

"You have  _no idea_  how it sounds." Cassius's brown eyes narrowed to slits. "It sounds like another war—"

"Which can be prevented if the people we fought on Rattatak can be stopped before they can get any further." Calo's eyes flicked over Cassius's shoulder to his big sister, who nodded encouragingly. "That's all the Resistance wants to do. We don't want a war if we can help it—"

"You can't!" Cassius shook his head, trying and somewhat failing to keep his composure. Years of surviving brutal Senate debates came to his aid as he swallowed his fury. "I've seen this before—"

"It was  _different_  then, Dad. That was thirty years ago! We don't want a war. It won't come to that!"

"The Rebellion said the  _same damn thing_ —"

"Before they saved you and the rest of Coruscant from the worst dictator in Galactic history."

Cassius gritted his teeth, forcing a terse sigh out of his nose. Calo relaxed a little. He had him there, and he decided to push a little further.

"You've told us about how bad it was for you guys so many times, Dad," he said. "If the First Order gets what they want – if we don't stop them before they can – it'll happen here, too."

"They're not the Empire, Calo." Cassius's tone told Calo that he was not the first time he had said that, and that he was mortally afraid to believe anything else. "They're hardly even a crime syndicate. Everyone's blown them way out of proportion. And this Snoke guy… he's no Palpatine. They… he  _can't_  be…."

"General Organa wants to beat them back before they have the chance to  _become_ —"

"At what cost?" The fire, which Calo had thought he'd just put out, was returning to Cassius's voice. "I almost lost you once, kiddo. Jaren's already gone." He grabbed his son's shoulders. "I can't lose another child. I  _can't_."

Calo's mother – Brea Renz-Anthon, a stunning Pamarthen woman of whom her daughter was a spitting image – laid a hand on Cassius's shoulder and took Calo's hand. "Listen to him, Calo," she begged. " _Please_."

Calo's face fell. A thousand emotions thickened his voice. "I know… I know my timing is awful, Mama… but I have to do this."

Cassius squeezed his eyes shut. "Calo—"

"Look what we've lost!" Calo urgently exclaimed. "Think about what  _I've_  lost."

"Calo _—_ "

"I watched my best friends in the world die. I can still hear them screaming. I can't sleep. I'm just as hurt as you are, Dad. I'm just as angry and desperate and terrified, but though I'm scared out of my mind, I can't let it stop me. Not now!"

"Son,  _please—"_

" _I can't let anybody else suffer like this!_ "

Cassius's breath caught in his throat. Calo's chest heaved. His pale face turned red and splotchy. Tears glistened in his terrified eyes.

"I…" Echo Six took a breath. "I can't stand back and let it get worse. Because if I do, it will."

Cassius shook his head, hard-fisting his denial like a smuggler gripping spice. "They're not the Empire, Calo."

"But they could be."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?" A few angry tears finally slid down Calo's face. "'Cause I think Rattatak proved that it isn't."

He saw Mila squirm out of the corner of his eye. Calo sucked in a shaky breath.

"You know the only thing backing the Resistance now is rumor, Calo," Brea said carefully. "The First Order, as well…." Her voice trailed as she walked towards her youngest son and cradled his tearstained face in her hands. "You can't be certain."

Calo's voice broke. "I  _am_  certain, Mom."

Brea swallowed hard, and her hands dropped to her sides. Cassius put his hands on his hips.

"What evidence do you have, Calo? How do you know they're not lying to you—"

"You  _honestly_ think that  _Leia Organa_  has any reason to lie?" Calo scoffed.

"She lied about Vader."

Calo groaned. "You've got to be kidding me—"

"He does have a point, Calo," Damien, who had been silent up until now, put it.

"No he doesn't," Calo pushed back.

Cassius pinched his nose. "Calo—"

"Can you take your head out of the Centrist gutter for five seconds, Dad!?" Calo fought with everything in him to not blow over – it took a lot for him to lose his temper, and he hated it when he did – but it was a battle he was starting to lose. "I don't care if you don't trust her; I don't care if you don't like her. It was  _her_  Alliance that killed Palpatine. That freed Coruscant and freed  _you_. The Empire took  _everything_  from you and she gave it back!"

Cassius frowned deeply. Calo saw he'd gotten the upper hand again and kept going.

"Look, I know it had to have been awful. I've heard the stories. I  _know—_ "

"Don't pretend to know what it was like, Calo." Seething shook Cassius's voice. His eyes flashed. The bomb was seconds from detonating. "The First Order can't do that, because I can't go through that again. I can't watch my children and grandchildren go through what I did—"

"And if I go, I can help keep it from happening! The Resistance can stop—"

"An imaginary threat?"

Calo's argument stalled and fell out of his mouth. "W-What?"

Cassius looked down his nose at his youngest. "A rumored defense force, stopping an imaginary threat."

"Those TIE fighters that shot down Commander Dameron were pretty stinking real."

He heard Mila shift. She stared at the floor – stared at nothing – but her eyes widened, and her face blanched as if she was looking at a dead body.

"And they must have been what? Thirty years old?" Cassius grunted. "Probably pirates who heard about the tribe's attack and came to steal what they cou—"

"They shot down  _two_  Rapiers, Dad!"

"Then they're damn good pilots—"

"They're  _murderers_ , that's what they are!"

"I don't believe that."

"Don't pretend to know what it was like, Dad!"

Cassius flared. "I don't care what you think, Calo. I don't care what you saw. The First Order is  _not_  the Empire, and I  _seriously_  doubt they can kill like the Empire could! There's no way in hell—"

"Yes, there is." Calo's shaking voice turned to ice. "And  _I_ don't care what the Senate has told  _you_. They're lying _._ "

Cassius crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Does preventing mass hysteria over nothing hurt anybody?"

"Quite a bit, Cassius." Lana had stayed silent since the second Mila and Calo had come through the door, but the exhausted widow had finally found a place to butt in. "They… I think Calo is right. I… I believe they are trying to cover something."

"How do you know that?"

Lana took a deep breath. "Jaren sent me something with his last transmission," she said slowly. "A personal holo of some kind. I have reason to think he took it on the field. Something I should, as a family member and a Senate Intelligence officer, have had ready access to. But when I tried to open it, I  _didn't have authorization_."

For the first time that afternoon, the room fell completely silent. Lana continued, an unreleased, angry sob stifling her voice.

"I am his wife. I'm also a high-enough ranking agent that I  _should_  have had clearance to view it anyway. The Senate trusts me with its heaviest secrets, and even  _I_  don't know how my husband died!"

Calo held his hand out towards Lana. "Seem like a fake now?"

Cassius gaped. Calo raised an eyebrow.

"Even you have to admit that's fishy, Dad. And we're not the only ones. The Solusars and the Drants have no clue what really happened to Tover and Varsha. I doubt the Anderons know anything about Kit, either."

"And they won't tell us anything about Jaren…." Lana sounded lifeless as she fidgeted with her wedding band. She looked up, tears welling in her bright blue eyes. "That  _must_  concern you a little bit."

By the way Cassius stalled, Calo knew he was running out of things to say. He looked over at his sister, who had tears streaming down her face as she clenched her jaw. Her distant gaze still burned a hole into the floor.

"If they are such a threat," Cassius tried, "then why isn't the Senate jumping over itself to stop it?"

Lana stiffened. "I don't know," she whispered. She looked over her shoulder into the next room, where her twin boys were remarkably still napping. "But unless they want more of their children to be fatherless, then something must be done." She looked at Calo. "Whether it be by the New Republic or not."

She gave him a reassuring smile, the lion heart that he knew his sister-in-law had peeking through her grief. Calo's frowning face softened, his determination reinvigorated.

"I have to go, Dad," he said simply.

"And I'm not letting you."

The smile that crossed Calo's face told Cassius his son was done apologizing. "You don't get to make that choice."

Cassuis's eyes flashed, but before he could come back, Calo cut him off:

"I made the Resistance a promise. Even if they do wind up to be nothing… at least I would've done something to figure that out." He nodded, finally validating his action as the right one.

No one could stop him now.

"Fine, then." Cassius cast his eyes down, trying to conceal the panic that was welling up inside of him. "Go. Get yourself killed. Drag us through it all again kicking and screaming."

"I don't expect you to understand, Dad—"

"It's  _you_  who doesn't understand, Calo!"

"I know what I saw, and I know what I have to stop!" Calo insisted.

Cassius shook his head. "No," he bit. "You know what you think you saw. You know what nightmare you had, and you're letting it consume you. If there really was something wrong—"

"I'm telling you there  _is_ something wrong! There's something very,  _very_  wrong and nothing's being done about it! Not here!"

Cassius sighed. "Calo—"

"Five thousand people died that night." Calo's voice shook with repressed anger. He felt his face flushing. A part of him was guilty he'd let himself go off this much, but he realized now he didn't have a choice. "Twelve of them were my best friends in the entire world. I'm not going to let their sacrifices mean nothing." He backed up a step towards the apartment door. "I  _can't_."

"So that's it, then?" Cassius retorted, his rumbling, terrified growl crescendoing into a roar. "You would abandon you own family over a figment of your imagination—"

" _You. Weren't. There!_ "

The exclamation came out like a battle cry, not one made by a woman about to seize a victory, but by one making a final stand. Mila's tearstained face shook with rage as she finally came off the wall she'd been leaning against and put herself between her little brother and her father.

"You have  _no kriffing idea_  what we saw," she snarled, her eyes blazing so fiercely that everyone in the room was suddenly wary of her. "You don't know sith _spit_  about what happened to us."

Cassius could only stare at her. There was a part of Calo – a part of all of them – that didn't recognize her. Mila's angry gaze – far more vicious than they were accustomed to – bored into her father's until he bowed his head and took a small step back. Calo noticed her hands were shaking. Silence rang in his ears; now that it wasn't drowned out by screaming voices, the holo, which had all but been forgotten about, was the only thing to be heard. Mila had turned towards it, her eyes livening, the smile on her face filled with venom and victory.

"That's my story," she said, spiteful and relieved. She crossed her arms across her chest and squared her shoulders. "The  _Beacon_ 's on nearly every holo screen in the Republic. They're about to find out what  _really_ happened." She pointedly glared at her father. "Then what do you think they're gonna do?"

Her face – which she knew had been heavily edited to make her look more awake and put together than she had been – appeared on the screen.

" _Honestly, I don't remember much of it, but I will say that it was horrific, and I nearly lost my life_."

Mila's heart slammed hard in her chest. This was it.

" _They were everywhere. In the village. On the base. They killed whoever got in their way_."

She watched herself look away from the reporter, a glimmer of the internal battle she'd been fighting that day sneaking out through her eyes.

" _Who?_ " the reporter asked. " _The Rattataki?_ "

With baited breath, Mila waited to see and hear herself refute the lie that the rest of the holonet had spread. She waited for the declaration.

Instead, the frame trembled a little bit – Mila wouldn't have noticed had it been any other interview but hers – and she watched in horror as her dejected self  _nodded_.

Mila rocked like she'd been hit in the face.

"S-Somebody spliced that," she stammered. "They…" She fought to restrain herself. "After…." She whispered under her breath, "She told me she would help and she  _lied_ …."

Cassius raised an eyebrow. "That's a pretty wild accusation, Mila. One that I don't think you can prove—"

"I saw it, too," Lana cut him off. "I was trained to see these things."

Cassius gaped at her incredulously. "So you both want to tell me that the entire New Republic is lying to us?" He nearly mocked them now. "That  _is_ crazy."

"But it's true," Mila croaked. She barely acknowledged Calo's hand on her shoulder. Numbed by defeat, all she could do was stare at the floor.

"I  _just_  watched you say otherwise—"

" _Dad—_ "

"What are you trying to prove here?" He motioned between Mila and Calo. "Really. Both of you. What do you want me to think? If you want me to believe you… it's not going to happen." Cassius shrugged dismissively. "Sorry."

Calo and Mila exchanged glances. Calo clenched his jaw as he sighed.

"I'm gonna go pack," he whispered.

Cassius flared. "No you're not."

Tears strangled Calo's voice. "Yes I am."

Brea caught her youngest son's arm as he turned. "Calo,  _please—_ "

"I'm sorry, Mom. I have to." He looked at the rest of them, observing his family for what he was certain would be the last time. Both of the boys had woken up; they peered around their bedroom door unbeknownst to the rest of their family. The confused, terrified gleam in their eyes ripped Calo's heart out.

"I'm so sorry," he repeated himself. Mustering all of the courage he could, he turned his back and walked towards the door.

"You walk through that door, Calo Criss," Cassius thundered, "don't come back again!"

Calo's hand froze over the controls. Protecting his family couldn't mean abandoning them completely. Leaving them for good.

He would see them again.

And if he didn't… at least the First Order would have to step over his body to get to them.

His balled fist slammed into the door controls, the desperate calls of his family fading into the bustle of Hosnian Prime's crowded streets.

* * *

As soon as Calo had left, Mila had taken off after him. Except she wasn't trying to stop him.

She wanted to say goodbye. She wanted to tell him how brave he'd been.

She wanted to promise him she wouldn't be far behind.

But as the crowd had pushed in around her, she'd lost sight of him. She wouldn't get that chance now.

She could hear Damien, who'd ran out after her, calling for her above the city noise, but she put her head down and kept walking. She knew her oldest brother was torn on the entire issue, but she didn't want to have that conversation with him. Not now. She was too spent for it.

As tactfully as she could, she flagged down an air taxi and took it back to base. She half-stumbled through the doors of the medcenter, fighting desperately to hold herself together. She came to a door, punched in the lock code, and swiftly stepped inside, pressing her back to it as it hissed shut behind her. A shaky breath forced itself into her lungs before she could stop it.

"Mila?"

The warmth in his voice was a balm, softly starting to soothe away what pain it could. She needed to come around the wall and actually lay eyes on him – she knew he'd want to see her, too – but she was too exhausted to move.

"I…I'm losing my family, Poe," she stammered. "We're… we're falling apart. Calo's gone. Force knows where he'll wind up. And my parents…" She sighed forcefully, her suppressed anger towards them rising anew. "I don't even know what to think about them right now."

She paused, fighting to compose herself as she finally walked forward. "I just…."

Her voice trailed, and her eyes bugged a bit. Poe wasn't in bed, where she'd expected to find him. And he'd assured her he wouldn't get up unless….

Poe stood in the massive window that spanned across his entire back wall, turning around to face her. The dying day's golden light warmed his features as he smiled at her.

"No pain at all, doc. And not a drop of sedative. Just like I promised."

Tears welled in Mila's eyes for a thousand different reasons, but the smile that burst across her face came for only one.

"C'mere, sweetheart."

Gratefully Mila went to him, melting into his arms for the first time in months. Poe kissed the top of her head, rocking her gently as he buried his face into the top of her hair.

"Been too long since I've been able to do this," he whispered, tightening his grip as Mila started to relax. His eyes wandered out of the window and to the flight line, where a brand new black X-wing lifted off from the permacrete. He smiled faintly when he realized Mila was watching it, too.

"They're testing it," he softly explained. "Karé already had it painted. Said that's my incentive."

Mila chuckled in spite of herself as she still fought not to cry. Poe kissed her forehead as he pulled back just far enough to look at her. A single tear dropped onto Mila's cheek, but before it could slide down her face he wiped it away. She grasped his wrist, and his dark eyes gentled as he searched her anguished eyes.

Mila knew he couldn't take the pain away completely – she doubted anything could – but she also knew that wouldn't keep him from trying. There was relief in knowing that he was there. That he would listen. Slowly, she started to let herself accept a little of it.

"So what's going on?"


	39. She's Not Okay

_Chapter 39: She's Not Okay_

"So he just… he kicked Calo out?"

Mila hung her head and nodded, white-knuckling the railing in front of her. She and Poe, who was more than strong enough now to walk around the medcenter for extended periods of time, had retreated to their old overlook. It had been several weeks since Calo left for the Resistance. Mila had only now pieced together everything that had happened well enough to recount it, though she still stumbled through it.

Poe's brow wrinkled. Disgust tightened his lips, molded his features into a frown. Mila knew him well enough to see him searching for the right words to say, and his reaction only intensified when they wouldn't come.

"I'm proud of him, honestly," Mila went on, her voice cracking. "He knew what he needed to do, and he didn't let anybody stop him." She briefly smiled. "I think you rubbed off on him."

Poe chuckled.

"But still. He wasn't okay. Part of me wonders if he—"  _if he was as messed up by it all as I have been._

The words almost came out of her mouth, but she shoved them back before they could. Her cover had become more difficult to maintain; the mask that she had constructed, the one she fought to repair every day, slipped away by the second.

"If he what, Mil?"

Mila sighed. The mask, for all its fragility, held fast.

"Lost my train of thought," she said limply. "I'm sure he's fine."

The gleam in Poe's eyes told her he didn't quite buy it, and for a second she feared he would push her for the answers she knew he so badly wanted, the ones that he deserved no matter what he did with them. With a tense swallow he pushed it down.

"I wonder if Snap's found him yet."

 _Thank the Force_. "Wexley, right?"

Poe nodded. "Something tells me they'd get along. You'd like him too, doc. One of the first pilots to join up, if not  _the_  first. He went with General Organa when she left after the Amaxine warrior scandal. Senate didn't do anything then either, and it didn't sit well with him."

"At least they weren't trying to cover it up." Mila's words sounded as bitter as they tasted. "I just wanna know how. And why."

Poe hung his head a bit. "Somebody's pulling strings. Maybe the Order's got more of a hold on the New Republic than we thought. Maybe they've bribed them. Or threatened them." He paused, and his next thought came out with some difficulty. "Maybe some people actually think they're right."

"Yeah, but who?" Mila focused back over the flight line, appalled by the idea. "And why?"

She sighed, looking over the permacrete below her. Karé landed Poe's new X-wing in the distance, though the four Rapiers' fighters sat alone. She'd never seen all twelve parking spaces filled, but the emptiness glared at her nonetheless.

"Looking kind of empty now." Poe seemed to follow her thoughts exactly.

Mila searched his face. "Do you ever wonder what it'd be like if it wasn't? If they were still here?"

Poe nodded slowly. "All the time, Mila."

Mila's eyes dropped, the tired frown on her face growing more prominent as the setting sun's light shadowed her face. Poe wrapped an arm around her sagging shoulders and kissed the top of her head, though her body remained rigid as stone even as she reached for him.

He couldn't keep lying to himself about this. Something was wrong. It had been for quite some time. And whatever it was…

Whatever it was, she kept from him. Actively kept it from him.

Why?

He held her for a moment; she leaned into him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face into his shoulder. He knew she didn't intended to hurt him.

But she was starting to.

It didn't come from a place of betrayal. He knew she hadn't gone behind his back or gone off with someone else; she'd been stabbed in the back too many times in that exact way for her to do that to him. She despised the thought and had told him as much, and he believed her. He didn't doubt her loyalty for a second.

What bothered him so much was that she was in pain, and he didn't know what kind. He couldn't fix it if she wouldn't tell him how.

Mila pulled back and smiled a little bit. "You ready to head back inside?"

Poe spared the flight line one last glance and nodded towards the door. Mila reached for his hand, the familiar fit of his palm and fingers enclosed around hers offering some comfort. The white of the medcenter lights blinded her as she came inside and started down the stairs that would take them back to Poe's room.

"Only one more night of this, flyboy." A real smile lit up Mila's tired face, and that smile bubbled into a giggle when Poe pumped a fist into the air. "You did it."

" _We_  did it."

Mila rubbed his arm as they came to the first landing. "It'll be good to see you in your happy place again."

He leaned down and kissed her temple, nuzzled into her hair. The grin that split her face warmed her to her toes.

"Thank you," he whispered in her ear.

Mila craned her neck and kissed him softly, laughing when he unexpectedly deepened it and knocked her against the wall.

"C'mon," he grinned, skipping the last few stairs and coming down on the landing. "I'm thinking the sooner I hit the sack, the faster you'll let me outta here—"

Her boots squeaked to a halt on the floor as she suddenly gasped and scrambled backwards up the stairs, eyes wide. She stared in his direction. Her hands shook.

"Mila?"

It took him a second to realize she wasn't looking at him, but  _past_  him. His body snapped into a defensive stance as he wheeled to face—

Nothing.

No one.

The corridor was unsettlingly silent – save for Mila's haggard breaths, which bounced off the walls and echoed hollowly around them. Poe's heart slammed in his chest.

"Stay there," he said, and it sounded like an order.

As fast as he could – his body had healed, but it wasn't quite in fighting shape – he cannoned down the stairs, frantically searching for whatever it was… until he realized there was nothing to search for.

There was no one else in the stairwell. Just him and Mila.

Slowly he came back up to her. She'd stood back up. One hand gripped the railing, white-knuckled, while the other hung limp at her side. She didn't look at him. She didn't move; didn't breathe.

_The hell?_

"I'm okay, flyboy," Mila managed. "I… tripped."

 _Liar_.

"Let's… just get back inside." She tried to slow the panting with a few deep breaths – he knew she was trying to hide that, too – and started to come towards him. He swore he saw her knees buckle. "Come on."

She reached for his hand. The entire walk back, it trembled in his grasp.

* * *

Poe found the others waiting for him when he got back, but he barely heard them greet him. Excitement buzzed in the air when he'd walked in – he knew why, too, and that stung him the most. But the second they saw him, it died.

"Caraya's soul, Commander," Karé rushed to his side as if he'd been shot. "You alright?"

So his face had betrayed him. He had hoped he could swallow it, but he'd also known they'd see right through it. Nonetheless, he tried. He yanked a smile across his face.

"Just tired, Two." He patted Karé's shoulder. "I'm good."

"Bantha crap," Muran said bluntly. "What happened?"

Poe shook his head. "I'll tell you later." The anxiety lifted from his face a bit as he shoved past it, and his eyes even twinkled. "Did you get it?"

Smiles barged across the Rapiers' faces, the tension of the moment forgotten. BB-8 warbled at lightspeed as Karé pulled a simple black box from her pocket and held it out to him. The ecstasy had returned.

"BB-8, go stand guard," Poe grinned as he turned the small package around in his fingers. "And tell us if you see her."

Had the droid been able to salute, he would have, and he rolled off to his post with the erectness of a soldier. Poe chuckled.

Karé sat down on the bed next to him, bouncing up and down and like a giddy schoolgirl. "Open it! Open it! Open it!"

Poe's thumb slid along the front of it and propped the lid open, the chuckle in his throat catching as the hospital light danced against intricately-carved diamond. Breathlessly he smiled as he took it in.

"Hoooo," Karé chuckled, bumping his shoulder with his. "That just got  _real_ , didn't it?"

Poe's eyes bugged as he nodded, the smile on his face widening.

"You nervous at all?" Iolo asked.

"Not the right word, pal." The smile on his face widened as he took the ring from the box and held it between his fingers to get a better look. It was understated – a simple silver band wrapped around a single stone – but still gorgeous nonetheless as it sparkled in his hand. "It looks like her."

"Mission accomplished then?" Karé grinned.

The commander nodded. "Yes, Lieutenant. Mission accomplished."

BB-8 chattered at the door, almost as if he was talking over his shoulder towards them. Someone softly chuckled. Poe and Karé exchanged glances.

"Kriff, that's her."

" _Hide it._ "

As quickly as he could he slipped the ring back into the box and shoved it underneath his upturned bed blankets, a boyish grin plastering his face when Mila came in. All four Rapiers stared at her, smiling away. The medic's brow quirked.

"What are you all smiling about?"

Poe quirked an eyebrow as his grin widened. "Just told them I'm almost out. See, as much as Karé's enjoyed the interim promotion, she's—"

"Sick of it." Karé tacked on. "Take back what's yours. Please."

Mila softly laughed. "I just came to check in real quick. On my way to get the last few tests we need to run. And  _when_  you pass them, because you will—" her eyes shifted to Poe, and when they did some of their old sparkle came back "—I can officially let you go."

Karé grinned in spite of herself as she clapped her brother-in-arms on the back. Iolo and Muran softly cheered.

"Rapier One, standing by." Iolo laughed. " _Finally_."

Mila chuckled, a faint smile on her lips as she stepped forward into the light. Karé's breath caught when she did.

_Caraya's soul._

Exhausted, for Mila, had been a constant state of being since Rattatak – Karé knew she had been struggling – but it wasn't until now that she began to see just how deep it went. The bags under Mila's eyes had darkened to the color of dirt. Her face now was almost gaunt. Her hands shook, though she balled them both into fists to keep it from showing. Her chest rose and fell as quickly as if she had sprinted down the hallway and back, and Karé could see that she was trying to tame it, to smile through it.

She couldn't decide if it was admirable or heartbreaking.

Mila chewed her bottom lip nervously; the smile she had held with relative ease now trembled on her lips. Karé quickly dropped her gaze. All four of them must've been staring a hole into her.

"I'll… be right back," she managed, backing out of the room and closing the door behind her.

Silence. Karé and Iolo exchanged glances.

"I don't care what she tells you, Poe," Iolo said after some thought, his brow and his voice weighed down. "She's not okay."

Poe sighed and shook his head. "No, Iolo. She's not."

"What're you gonna do, then?"

He didn't have an answer to that, not one coherent enough to say aloud. He slipped his hand under the sheets, his long fingers brushing the side of the box hidden underneath. His hand tightened around it.

After months of wondering, he finally began to think he'd named the demon that plagued her.

And, for Mila's sake, he hoped beyond all hope that he was wrong.

* * *

_They know. They know. They know._

She fought the poisonous words that circled in her mind with everything in her as she took Poe's final tests and recorded them, but the harder she persisted, the tighter their grasp became.

_They know, and you're about to lose them all._

_You're about to lose_ him.

That wasn't true, Mila told herself. It couldn't be. After everything they had been through, there was no way he would—

_You don't know that. He won't see you the same once he knows how broken you are. Once he learns that you've lied about it all._

_Nothing good stays for people like you_.

She sucked in a shaky sigh as she watched him sleep later that night. Gently she pushed a stray curl out of his face and kissed his forehead. Tears flooded her eyes.

She'd already lost too much. Sundar and Kit. Jaren. Calo. Her family was torn to shreds. She was certain she'd never speak to some of them again.

If she lost Poe… if her anchor broke….

She shoved the thought from her mind and lowered herself into a nearby chair, her teeth clenched so hard it made her head hurt. She watched the flight line, though besides the lights blinking in the distance, there was nothing to look at. Her eyes drooped. Her head nodded forwards.

With a jolt, she shook herself awake.

She could still save this. She could keep her cover. She had to. If she fell asleep….

She tried to stand, but her exhausted body protested. Maybe it wouldn't happen tonight; maybe the monsters behind her closed eyes wouldn't come to torture her. She sank into the chair, the chaos of the world slowing down and fading to darkness.

She needed the rest. Just for a moment…

Fire. Grimy, blood-stained hands crushing her neck, and a pair of silver eyes shining as he watched the life fade from her body. The scream of falling starfighters. The crackling hum of a lightsaber and the hulking, shrouded figure of the terror that wielded it. There was no escape. Smoke soiled her lungs, its acrid reek lingering in her nose.

The man in her arms wasn't breathing. And the demon was turning around—

A hoarse shriek tore at her throat. She felt herself falling as she scrambled backwards, though through the chaos, her name was being called. Suddenly the hospital room flashed back into view as reality battled its way back into her mind.

But once she came to, she wished she wouldn't have.

"Mila?"

Her body shook with terrified sobs. Through the mirage of tears, she glanced around the room… and fixed on Poe's face.

"Oh, no," she whimpered.

_Now look what you've done._

Slowly he came towards her, his hand outstretched as he kneeled. She blamed herself for the helplessness welling in his eyes.

"I—"

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart," he said. "Not again."

He wasn't angry – or maybe he was, and she was too far-gone to see it. But she had seen his rage before, and this wasn't it. He sat in the floor in front of her.

"You're not okay."


	40. Not Without You

_Chapter 40: Not Without You_

He knew.

Kriff it all, he knew.

Mila couldn't see his face through tears blurring her vision, though she'd never felt so stared into in her life. So cut open. Exposed.

She  _hated_ it.

She tried to swallow the anguish between burning gulps of air, but the harder she fought to remain quiet—to hold herself together—the louder she became. The more she crumbled. She scrambled for the pieces as they fell between her fingers.

"Mila."

She couldn't read his voice. Past the pounding of her heart, she could barely hear it. She bowed her head into her hands and pulled her hair in her fists. Her body shook.

She could have stopped this. She should have told him.

The only thing strangling her more than the guilt itself was the shame of having it.

Mila fought to speak, but what words she had drowned the second she opened her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him slide a bit closer to her, but before she could tell it not to, her body retreated deeper into the corner she'd shrunk into.

"It's not you," she cried in response to the pained confusion on his face. "Baby, I  _promise_  it isn't—"

She choked and coughed, and though she tried to explain herself—she had to, but the damn words wouldn't come—she only sobbed harder the more she tried. She tried to focus on anything else—the lights in the room, the grooves in the tile floor—to distract herself, to ground herself, but it only made it worse. The more she fought to ignore it, the more mercilessly it attacked her.

She didn't know how long she sat like that, but it was more than long enough for both of her legs to fall asleep. Poe sat across from her, staring down and past her into nothing, his face vacant. He wrestled with something—it wallowed in his eyes. Every once in a while he'd glance at her, but he never held it for long. A thousand questions marched through his head, and Mila knew exactly which ones.

She was also certain of the answers he'd come to.

If he was going to leave her—nobody stayed for people like her—she wished he wouldn't drag it out. That he'd stand and do what had to be done.

At this point, she could only drag him down.

A tiny, desperate voice inside her begged her not to believe it, asserted that there was no way it was true. She didn't have the energy to listen to it.

Her head heavy and pounding, Mila rested her temple on the wall, the cold of the cinderblock oddly soothing against her smarting cheeks. The room fell so quiet that every small sound—the shutting of distant doors, the occasional footsteps down the hallway—was deafening. Poe shuffled to sit against the wall next to her, and when she couldn't raise her eyes to look at him, she felt like a wall had gone up between them.

"Mila," he softly tried again. Slowly he held out his hand to her. Mila stared at it blankly before finally picking hers up and setting it in his, her limp palm completely—safely—engulfed in his, surrounded by it. For now she would let herself hang on, desperately clinging to every one of the last seconds she was going to have with him.

She steeled herself to be asked to leave, to walk through those doors to never see him again. She'd already accepted it. She'd accepted it a long time ago, from the second she'd known just how she'd broken.

When he found out, he would leave. There was no way he wouldn't.

"I think I know what this is, sweetheart," Poe started.

His grip on her hand loosened. Mila clenched her jaw. Swollen eyes rolled up to meet his as she sighed.

She couldn't hear it. Not from him. That would give it a name.

That would make it too real.

"I…" She sniffed and looked away from him, weakly whispering. "I'm not…."

He slid his hand out from hers. Mila clutched at air and braced for it. She thought she saw him move to stand. Instead he tucked her collapsing hair back out of her face, his touch lingering the same way it always had. Tears glistened in his eyes, though he dammed them back. Mila's heart clenched watching him.

"This is my fault," she faltered.

"No, it isn't."

"Poe—"

"You can't blame yourself for whatever happened, Mila."

"Yes I can, and I do." She gritted her teeth, her eyes blazing as they refilled with unwanted tears. "It's…"

Again the words left her head just as they were forming. Her stomach churned nervously.

"No," she whispered. "I… can't be. I'm…not—I can't be  _that_  broken—"

The weight of Poe's arm squeezed her shoulders, though her back remained rigid against it. "What?" he gently urged.

"I can't be…" The words beat their way out, though Mila only let them escape in a whisper. "I'm not shell-shocked…. I—I can't be—"

The breath Poe drew weighted what he was about to say before he said it. Though as he said it, he didn't accuse, and for the first time that night, Mila didn't feel like he was holding her at arm's length.

"Sweetheart, I think you might be."

Mila hung her head.

"And I think you need help."

Mila's nostrils flared. "So what?" she snapped. "I just… get my life back together and then you'll magically be back to—"

"Back?" As he echoed her, Poe sounded genuinely hurt. "No, Mila."

This was it. She squeezed her eyes shut.

But to her surprise, she felt his hands on her face, his fingers gently wiping her tears away.

"Look at me," he said.

Slowly Mila opened her eyes and fixed on his face. The compassion in his eyes—the warmth—almost startled her.

"There's no 'back,' because I'm not leaving."

Mila's breath caught in her throat. "What?"

"If you thought I was gonna ditch you to fight this thing by yourself, you're dead wrong."

Mila shook her head. "Poe—"

" _Dead_. Wrong."

A sob barked from Mila's lungs. Was he serious?

"D-Do you understand what you're getting yourself into, Poe?"

"Not necessarily." He ran his hand along the side of her face, guiding her reddened eyes to his own. "I have no clue where this is gonna take us, or how it's gonna test us. But I do know this: you won't be alone."

Mila stared at him and blinked, tears still streaming down her face.

"You hear me?" he whispered, clearing her hair from her face once again. " _You will not be alone_."

Mila grasped his wrists and crumpled. She couldn't believe what she was hearing; she even hesitated to feel relieved. Gently he scooped her up into his arms, softly rocking her as she shook with sobs.

"I thought I was about to lose you," she croaked.

"Really?" Now his voice was breaking. "Well I hate to break it to you, doc, but you're stuck with me."

Mila laughed through her tears. Poe softly kissed her forehead, running his fingers through her hair.

"When I was going through hell, you could have left me behind at any second," Poe gently went on, "but you didn't. What kind of a man would I be if I left you to walk through yours alone?"

Mila snuggled her head into the crook of his neck and sighed. She'd expected this conversation to go so differently… and now she felt utterly stupid for believing it would have.

"I love you," she whimpered.

Poe pulled her closer. "I love you too, doc. I'm not going anywhere."

Her breath finally slowed and evened out, her whole body dragged down by the exhaustion but warmed to the toes by his presence, by knowing that even if she was falling, he'd be there to catch her. Her eyes heavily shut as the day's first light trickled into the sky.

"I'm not going anywhere…."

* * *

Poe let Mila sleep late into the next morning; he didn't have the heart to move her, and she desperately needed the rest. When she finally woke again, she'd looked up at him and smiled, and for the first time in a while her eyes were mostly free of exhaustion. She offered him a smile and a quick kiss before finally standing up and stretching. As they watched the flight line together, she looked almost as excited as he was.

Within the hour, he'd be in the air.

He could hardly believe it.

Mila nursed a small cup of caf. She hadn't spoken too much since she woke up, and even though he had a thousand questions for her—chiefly how long she'd been fighting her new demon, and what had happened to her to bring it around—he held them back. It was a struggle, but an interrogation was a terrible idea at this point. The answers would come in time.

The wait would drive him crazy, but he would suck it up.

He glanced at his girl again, wanting to see the little smile she'd woken up with. His heart sank when it wasn't there.

"You okay doc?"

Mila blankly nodded, her eyes a bit glazed over as she stared into space.

"You sure?"

The medic sighed and reached for his hand.

"What you said last night," she started tremulously. She raised her eyes to him. "I… I know this is stupid, but… you meant it. Right?"

He didn't know too much about what Mila was dealing with, but Poe at least knew that it came with doubts, ones that she might not be able to fight. Not yet. But for now, he could try to assuage them.

"Of course I did," he replied, raising her hand to his lips for punctuation. She managed a grateful smile, the ease she'd had earlier slowly beginning to return. His eyes twinkled.

What he had said was absolutely true, but if she needed proof—even if she didn't—she would get it later that day.

And as she discharged him, as he stood alone in his now vacant hospital room realizing just how lucky he'd been, he looked at the little black box in his hand a smiled.

* * *

"I know. Hard to believe isn't it?"

BB-8 wove between his master's legs and nearly tripped him as the two finally made their way towards the pilot's prep room. Poe chuckled.

"Yeah, but if you break my leg on the way over—" he half-tripped over his excited droid as he darted back towards him "—we're back to square one, pal."

The doors slid open in front of him, and for the first time in four months, the smell of engine coolant and fuel streamed up his nose. A smile burst across his face.

People said he could fly anything—he knew he could—and now, after fighting so long to get back into the cockpit, he was finally about to. His hands shook from excitement as he pulled on a brand-new flight suit and life-support vest, as he tucked that little black box into one of his pockets for safe-keeping. The grin on his face was so wide it hurt. It took all the discipline he could muster to check to make sure everything was in place before he turned to reach for his helmet—

Which wasn't there.

Poe's brow quirked. "BB-8, have you—"

Black and red moved in the corner of his eye, and he turned to find Mila holding it out to him, looking every bit as awestruck as he felt. A breathless smile parted her lips.

"Now you look like yourself again."

He hadn't been the only one waiting for this.

Mila's smile turned to a grin as Poe took his helmet from her hands and held it between his own, running his finger across the red Old Alliance starbird that would soon sit above his brow.

 _Finally_.

"What are you waiting for, flyboy?" Mila put a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes shone. "Go get 'em."

He grinned as she kissed his cheek and, heart hammering, Poe headed out the door and onto the flight line. The other Rapiers had already beaten him out there. All of them stopped what they were doing to watch him approach, to see the look on his face as he finally laid a hand on his new fighter. His fingers ran down the striking orange flight markings.

_Hello gorgeous._

Still in a trance, Poe climbed the ladder and hopped into the cockpit, beaming as the canopy came down and as he secured his helmet on his head. The T-85's engines shrieked to life, their even tone reminiscent of his last fighter, but fiercer. Prouder. The others roared alongside his, their thundering song finally filled out again.

It wasn't what it used to be—the eight empty spots past Muran were all to jarring a reminder of that—but he knew right now, those that weren't with him were certainly watching, and they were most certainly as excited as he was.

His trembling fingers wrapped around the stick, but before he finally told the fighter to lift off, he spared one last glance out of the cockpit, to the small figure wrapped up in his flight jacket with a smile on her face every bit as bright as his. She even flashed him a thumbs-up, and he couldn't help but chuckle as he returned it.

He still didn't have the words to thank her.

Poe took a deep breath, flipped a few additional controls, and felt the X-wing lift under him.

He was home again.

"Rapier Squadron, this is Rapier Leader. All wings, report in."

Karé and Iolo and Muran cheered so loud over his comms that his ears rang. Poe tipped his head back and laughed.

"Not sure that counts, but there we go."

Rapier Squadron lifted in tandem, falling into formation and dominating the air as easily as they always had. As the clouds parted before them and the sky rose to meet them, Poe suddenly felt as if no time had passed at all.

Finally they turned back to base, and Poe's heart bounded in his chest. Though they couldn't see him, his wingmen picked up on it.

They knew exactly what he was going to do when he landed.

"You nervous at all?" Iolo asked.

Poe found himself grinning. "Not sure if that's the right word, pal."

"That's a  _yes_ , then, Iolo," Karé teased.

Poe laughed and rolled his eyes.

"But in all serious, Poe," she went on, "she's gonna say yes."

Their fighters descended, and the weight in Poe's pocket lightened and doubled all at once. His fighter was close enough to the ground now that he could see her; her smiling eyes hadn't left the sky for a second. He deployed his landing gear.

"I sure hope she does."

* * *

It had been a long time since Mila had been this genuinely happy.

Tears had misted her eyes as she'd watched him take off. She blinked them back once he disappeared into the clouds, but the second she heard the Rapiers start the landing sequence, they'd returned. A smile trembled on her lips.

She still had a long road ahead, but at least one of her nightmares was finally over.

Poe jumped from the cockpit and pulled off his helmet, shaking his matted hair free as he chatted with one of the techs that had come meet them. BB-8 rolled to his side, and the Rapiers congregated around them. From behind her, Deso called his pilots to attention as he strode towards them. For the first time since she'd known him, Mila saw the major smile, and the Rapiers returned it as they stood at ease.

Her eyes never left Poe for a second. The Rapier glanced at her and subtly nodded up the stairs behind her, a suppressed smile twinkling in his irises. Mila's brow furrowed as she turned around.

Wait a minute.

Was that—?

She blinked. But the figures kept coming closer, and as they moved out of the shadow of the building, Mila gasped.

"Damien."

Her oldest brother, still in his mechanic's uniform and a bit dirty from the morning's work, smiled and held his arms out to her. Without thinking twice, she ran to Damien and wrapped him up in the biggest hug she could manage. He was even taller than Jaren had been, so she wound up on her tiptoes.

"I hadn't seen you since—"

"I know."

Damien pulled her closer and patted her back. "I should have said something. Done something. Mila, I'm so sorry—"

"Stop," Mila whispered. "None of that was your fault. Stop telling yourself that." She pulled back and put her little hand on his broad shoulder. "I'm not holding it against you."

Damien nodded. "Thanks, sis."

Mila smiled at him. Her eyes flicked over his shoulder, the hope rising in her that perhaps he hadn't come alone.

"It's just me, Mil." Damien read the question she was asking without having to hear it. "Lana had to stay with the boys. She really wanted to be here. And Mom and Dad…" His voice trailed, and he sighed. "You know."

Mila's heart sank.

Damien looked over her head, and the excited light he'd brought with him returned. "They're wrapping up," he said, nodding towards the Rapiers. "You'd better go."

Mila stepped back from Damien, losing her breath once she saw them, saw  _him_. Not wanting to intrude or rush things, Mila stopped a good distance away, but she was still close enough to hear them. Deso still spoke, but Poe's attention was almost entirely fixed on her. The smile on his face brightened; he almost looked antsy, and his excitement—whatever it was about—was bubbling over to the others. Even Muran was beaming.

Maybe he'd been more restless than she knew he had been.

He was finally dismissed, and the Rapier jogged over to her threw his arms around her. Mila laughed as he kissed the side of her head.

"You did it, flyboy," she murmured in his ear.

Poe set her back on her feet and took both of her hands in his, beaming. It took her a moment to realize he was shaking a little bit.

What had gotten into him?

"I've got something for you, doc," he said. "Call it a thank you."

"Oh, Poe," Mila grinned. "You shouldn't have."

Poe raised an eyebrow, and the crooked smile on his face made Mila's heart flutter.

"But there's a catch," he said.

 _Alright_ , Mila thought.  _He's definitely up to something_.

His grip on her hands secured; his thumbs tenderly stroked her knuckles. His expression softened, gentled in the way she remembered it had the first time she'd caught him looking at her. Then he'd tried to mask it initially; now, he didn't flinch. A thousand times before, Mila had lost herself in those big brown eyes, but the breathless anticipation she felt now was different.

She couldn't explain why.

"You said once," Poe started, choosing his words carefully, "that you didn't wanna do life without me."

Mila's brow furrowed. What was he….

"Well, Mila Criss—" he shuffled a little bit as he spoke, almost as if he was reaching for something "—I don't wanna do life without you, either."

Poe released both of her hands to dig for something in his pocket, one of his feet stepping back as he did. Mila still hadn't—

Wait.

Was… was he—

Heat suddenly flooded Mila's eyes, a fragile, breathless smile quivering on her lips. There was no way.

"You're not," she breathed.

Poe Dameron raised an eyebrow—the cheeky grin on his face made Mila wonder if he'd taken her budding shock as a challenge. His eyes not leaving hers, he revealed the object in his hand—a little black box—opened it, and sank to a knee.

"You are!" she cried, clamping a shocked hand over her mouth as overjoyed tears streamed down her face.

She certainly hadn't seen this coming!

"Will you marry me?"

People from all over the flight line cheered. Over the pounding of her heart she made out the Rapiers and  _Damien—that_  was why he was there!—laughing. Even Poe was chuckling.

She was too overwhelmed to speak. All she could manage was a nod.

Poe sprang to his feet and lifted her into a near bone-crushing embrace, and the entire place erupted. Mila couldn't stop smiling, or laughing, or crying. She clung to him every bit as tightly as he held her. He set her down long enough to slide the ring onto her trembling hand. Though her tear-blurred vision she caught the sparkle of the small diamond on her hand, and again she found herself laughing.

"It's beautiful," she managed.

Mila stood on her tiptoes and kissed him—realizing that she was going to get to do that for the rest of her life. She threw her arms around Poe's neck and held him close.

"I wasn't about to go another step, Mila," he murmured in her ear. "Not without you with me."

Mila sniffled. "I love you."

Poe kissed his fiancée's hair. "I love you too, sweetheart." He pulled her closer to him.

"And I will till the day I die."


End file.
